


The Silence of the Stars

by Daryl_Alenko



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Caring Arthur Pendragon, Heavy Angst, Hurt Merlin, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: Merlin is troubled. No longer the bubbly, happy person Arthur knows him to be. One night, when Gwen rushes to his chambers, red faced and mortified, unable to say anything but the name Merlin, Arthur rushes to his manservant/best friend's aid, and in the process, alters the course of destiny forever. * Much like my Stormpilot story, this is going to be a slow to post story, as each chapter is going to be pretty long and in-depth.





	1. I'm Fine (Save Me)

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR RAPE!! If this will be a problem, please don't subject yourself to reading this and face a possible trigger.
> 
> This is a SLASH fic with an eventual homosexual pairing. If that bothers you, please don't read and flame me for it. It will also contain some graphic, painful situations. Again, if it is more than you can handle, please don't read and flame.
> 
> And, I want to add a big note in here, for anyone that might like this story and want to read the upcoming parts. This story will be a slow one. Meaning, that it will take me time to upload each chapter as I finish them. But, I hope that some might be willing to stick with it. ^_^

"MERLIN!!" 

The all too familiar cry of the Prince of Camelot reverberates around the stone walls of the Castle as early morning breaks on the horizon. There are few indisputable truths about the great kingdom of Camelot, especially in the castle itself; Uther is a tyrant that will never be able to forgive the existence of Magic, and Prince Arthur Pendragon spends more time screaming his manservant's name than he seems to spend breathing!! Of course, any stranger would think it reason to dismiss said manservant and find one far more capable, but the denizens of Camelot damn well know better! In fact, the day they -don't- hear Arthur screaming for Merlin in such loud, seemingly angry chords, is the day they will worry. Because it will mean something irrevocable has happened, and Camelot will never be the same again.

"MERLIN!"

Cut to the corridors of the castle, crawling with city guard, servants, nobles, royals, and a few of the Knights that had not yet made it down to the training grounds for today's drills, which are due to commence in half an hour. Hence the shrill, angry scream of Arthur.

"MERLIN!! IF I HAVE TO CALL ONE. MORE. TIME!!!" The Prince's words are emphasized by his bare hand striking his opposite palm. A sound that barely carries farther than his open door, but somehow the action itself calms him. Though honestly, he isn't really -that- angry. No, this is a strange, twisted little 'game' played between them. He screams for Merlin, who is often late for one reason or another, they banter and squabble back and forth, he gives the idiot a long list of chores that may or may not get done with some elaborate threats made by the Prince, even though he and Merlin both know that as long as the main things are taken care of it is all good, and then the day ends and it starts all over again in the morning! 

It's odd, dysfunctional, and really weird in some ways, but it's also kind of perfect. Arthur now has a best friend that he gets to spend most of his time with, and there are no pesky questions from those around them. Because Merlin is his servant, and thus, -supposed- to spend most of his time with the Prince. And if they occasionally get to settle in his private chambers and talk as if they were equals, if Merlin gets to accompany him every where the Knights get to, then it isn't a big deal. No one sees them when they speak, and the Knights are used to having the big eared little fool around. 

"MER--" Of course, occasionally, this game does get a little old. In fact, it gets downright annoying when Merlin makes him wait too long. Like this morning. He is just in the midst of screaming out his friend/servants name again, when Merlin comes walking into the room. Not running like usual. There is no sheepish smile, red faced features, no laugh lines at the edges of his eyes. In fact .. he is downright docile, and Arthur is struck silent by that fact. Not only is his servant quiet, timid, and his vibrant baby blues downcast, he is carrying Arthur's breakfast in one hand and a pitcher of wine in the other. 

"Sorry, sire." The usual fervor of playfulness and barely contained snark are completely absent as the plate of breakfast is settled on Arthur's desk. Merlin reaches out, with slightly shaking hands, to grab Arthur's cup and quickly fill it with wine. 

"Merlin .." There is no anger, hurry, or negative emotion in the speaking of the younger man's name, just that subtle softness that only passes between them when they are alone. A tone that usually has Merlin grinning from ear to ear, popping off as no other servant would dare to do, to the Prince of Camelot. This time, though, his head remains bowed, the pitcher of wine settled within reaching distance as he waits, patiently, for whatever order he is expecting to come next.

"Merlin --" Arthur tries the soft, subtle tone once more as he moves toward the desk, pulling his chair out and plopping gracelessly into it. 

"If there is nothing else, Sire, Gaius has need of me this morning. He has several deliveries, and he is too sore to make them himself." Arthur. It's supposed to be Arthur, or prat, or anything but SIRE when they are alone. That term, that -title- cuts him to the quick. To hide the fact, he reaches for a strawberry on his plate, twirling the dark red fruit between his fingers as he tries to decide how to react. A year ago, he'd have had Merlin put in the stocks for such insolent behavior. Would've spewed, at great length, how he was a useless -servant- that had no right to speak to a Prince this way. Instead, he lets a breath escape, guiding the strawberry toward his lips.

"Dismissed, Merlin." If the younger man registers the acerbic tone to his words, he does not let on to the fact as he makes for the door. If Arthur notices the faint limp as Merlin exits his chambers, he doesn't let on to the fact, either.

* * *

Every day drags on. Endless. Annoying. The slow, steady crawl toward purgatory that drives everyone in the Castle and surrounding city crazy! Because, of course, it all centers around the countries favorite odd couple; Prince Arthur and his crazy sidekick. I mean manservant. The more their once comfortable friendship falls into disarray, the more every one around them suffers. Repeatedly. Some, in new and imaginative ways!

Like the poor maid that accidentally spilled a bucket of water on Arthur. Rather than put her in the stocks, he made her stand on her head for as long as possible, threatening to dump the water on her if she failed. It lasted all of ten minutes before Morgana found out and nearly smacked him right then and there. He fled in the fiery wake of her anger, hiding in his room with the door barred. Struggling to understand WHY he had been so angry at the poor woman.

After all, she had done nothing that bad. Hell, Merlin had spilled water on him so many times -- his anger spikes again and he finds his hands clenching in tight, furled fists against his hips. His palms itch for his sword. His emotion aches for an outlet that he cannot identify at the moment. 

But he is self-aware enough to realize that this centers around one thing. As it -always- does. Merlin. The good .. bad .. the inbetween .. it all revolves around his idiotic, bumbling, wonderful manservant. He uses the word wonderful sparingly, and only in the confines of his own mind. Where it's safe to think such absurd things that will never see the light of day. NEVER. 

He stares around the room with unseeing eyes. They are glazed. Frosted with unshed tears and the kind of bone-deep weariness that results from long nights spent laying in bed, contemplating the canopy above his head. Pretending to, really. Because acknowledge it or not, he damn well knows the time is actually spent fighting the perplextion he feels any time he actually tries to figure out what the truth of his relationship is to Merlin. Could the younger man actually be considered a friend or is that still far too taboo?? Will he ever be anything more than the 'lowly' servant to the 'great' Prince Arthur?

"Damn it!" He hisses those two words with the fervor of a man teetering on the abyss of insanity. An abyss he's more than fairly certain is going to swallow him whole one day, and he will be nothing short of deserving. People think he's so fucking stupid. That somehow, by some miracle or curse, or something, he has no clue that his behavior is wrong. Deplorable. That he acts every bit the Prat Prince on a nearly daily basis. I mean, come on! How does one not see the crux of their own behavior? 

Oh, right. Yes, okay, so technically, he wasn't aware of it some years ago. When he truly believed that he owned every one and every thing in Camelot. He had been raised to see the kingdom with such skewed vision. He is the Heir of Camelot, the greatest kingdom in the known lands! Of course he deserved everything his greedy little heart desired, right? WRONG with a big, fat, capital NOPE. Merlin helped him see that. Helped him remove the Princely filter from his eyes, heart, and mind, and truly **see** what he had become. A man hellbent on owning, rather than giving. On ruling, rather than leading. 

"Blessings damn you, Merlin." He mutters the words beneath his breath, which hitches of it's own accord when he glances around his room. And spots one of Merlin's neckerchiefs strewn haphazardly on his floor. In fact, it's tucked half in and half out of the bottom of his bed. Before he can scream a command to cease and decist to his mind, he is bending down to grab the thing. Twisting and curling the dusty material between fingers that ache with a need that they cannot seem to telegraph to his brain. Meaning, he knows he needs something but don't ask him to even begin to form a coherent thought on what that thing might be. 

He twists the fabric a little tighter, an ephemeral shiver ghosting down his spine at the way the material tickles his fingers as it passes between them. Flowing. And then it looks wrong. It looks .. too red, too flowing, too .. liquid. The fabric drops instantly from his hand and he is suddenly grinding his palm against his hip. Trying to rub something away. Trying .. trying .. to clean something from his flesh.

Blood. It takes a moment for the thought to dawn, and the morbid truth nearly startles him into yelping. Nearly. He had expected to look down and see streaks of blood on his palm, across his breeches. All over the stupid piece of cloth. A half choked laugh tumbles hysterically from his lips and he turns away. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs his belt and uses it to lift the offending piece of material and toss it onto his table. Staring at it for no reason he can discern. 

"Honestly, Arthur!" He growls the words aloud, still staring at the square of red fabric. "Do you expect it to get up? Dance a jaunty little jig, mayhap?" He sneers the words at himself, finally managing to look away. The moment his eyes are no longer on it, he feels a chill chase itself through his body and he immediately looks at the fabric again.

"It's fabric, damn it! It is -not- ominous!" He shouts those words in the direction of the neckerchief, and only after he has taken a few stern steps toward it .. does he realize ... how fucking absurd he's being. He's getting ready to attack and/or menace an inanimate bit of CLOTH! See! This, this **_right here_** is what Merlin does to him!

The intolerable imbalance of Merlin's absence from his life, at every damn moment Arthur wants him near, messes with his mind. It pushes him over the edge, leaves him flailing. Flailing is never good. Because when you flail, something is bound to get struck. 

He turns on his heel, grabs the piece of cloth in his hand and exits his chambers. Every person he meets either heads in the opposite direction, or makes themselves as small as possible. Because Arthur isn't screaming for Merlin. He isn't walking the halls making the usual spectacle of himself. He's walking in seething silence, something red clutched between trembling fingers. He is on the war path, and everyone is going to suffer from it. At least, they assume they will.

* * *

Merlin perches on the edge of his bed. He's so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. And yet, the moment ebon lashes kiss in a desperate attempt to let him sleep, he sees it. Again. Again. And Again. His eyes snap open, a soft, dry sob is ripped from him. Then it all begins again. 

He is struggling. No. He is shattering. Even now, sitting here, motionless, he can envision another piece of himself breaking free. Crashing across the ground and shattering into a million strands of bloodied diamond dust. He will never get any of these pieces back, and once this is all over ... well, he'll be gone, won't he? If every piece shatters, he ceases to be Merlin.

His eyes begin to slide closed again, and he nearly rolls from the bed as he forcefully jerks himself awake. Big mistake. Pain shoots up his back, wraps around his hips and thighs, squeezing mercilessly. Pathetic mewling sounds of pain escape as he tries to remain still. But the pain grows and grows until he can stand it no more! So, he pushes quickly from the bed, which hurts even worse. Nearly doubles him over in pain as every bruise, laceration, and tight muscle tugs and pulls. SCREAMS at him for the abuse his body has sustained. 

Tears stain his eyes, drown out his vision in viscous tidal-waves as he tries to look around the storage room he calls a bedroom. He huffs a deep breath, feels his bangs tickle across his forehead and even that little movement brings him pain. His lashes flutter in static staccato, jerking and swaying against each other to dislodge the misty tears encroaching on his vision. Once they are clear, he looks over his shoulder. And nearly screams. Both palms fly up, fingers furling into white knuckled fists that he pushes hard against his mouth. Trying to silence the bubbling sound of hysteria, fear, and loathing that well like a fount within him. Threatening his sanity. 

His bed is now a canvas covered in some macabre, abstract painting depicting the torture he has managed to survive. His blood .. clotted, pink, red, and too many various shades contained between the two, mars his bedding in globs, pools and streaks that make his stomach turn violently. Thankfully, it has been a few days since he ate anything, so there is nothing threatening a resurgence from his stomach. 

His fists tremble against his clenched mouth with all the presence of a feather for how light and small he seems these days. The sudden swimming of his vision reminds him that he hasn't eaten, and the thought of doing so nearly sends him into a fit of dry heaving. No, eating is a bad idea. Maybe .. god, maybe if he loses a little more weight, just changes a little bit, this will all end! If he is **_anything_** but what started this, then maybe he will finally be safe. 

"Please ... oh god, please .." The words are a pitiful muffled wail against his fingers as he presses his furled fists a little tighter against the quivering set of his lips. Why can prayers not be magic words?? Why can't his magic save him!? He blinks back a fresh assault of tears, forcing his hands from his face. Turning toward the bedding he desperately needs to change before Gaius decides to come and try to wake him up. Because if Gaius saw this ... him bruised and falling apart, blood on his bed .. well, he can't exactly explain that to his beloved Father figure, now can he?? If he has nothing else left in this cursed place, he needs Gaius. If the old man shunned him .. well, Merlin would end it. As 'sweet' and simple as that. He would end it. No one would ever be saddled with him again.

He is, after all, a failure at every thing he does, isn't he?? He failed his Mother when he told Will of his magic. He fails Arthur when he talks back, messes up a choir, or in any way fails to be a good manservant. He fails Gaius every time he uses his magic. Fails Gwen when he cannot comfort her, fails Morgana when he cannot guide her. He. Is. A. Failure. That truth has been driven home, finally. He is learning. It has taken close to three months, but he is finally learning. Soon, he may even be a good boy. 

Another wave of hysterics bubble toward his mouth, and his palm clamps so hard across the offending opening that he realizes he might be sporting a bruise there. And that nearly undoes him. If he showed up with a bruise .. his life might actually be forfeit! His vision goes black for a moment, the room around him fading into nothingness as he fights the realization that he is so very close to death. And there's not a damn thing he can do about it. His magic cannot save him. His connections, friends, and loved ones cannot save him. He is at the complete mercy of another being, and all he can do is go quietly each and every night. Bow. Scrape. Claim his 'rightful' place. Because he is nothing. A servant. Beneath. 

His vision is so fully eclipsed, his body so truly beat down, that he hasn't noticed he's not alone in the room any longer. At some point during this little moment of realization, Arthur has entered. And he ain't happy. The long, emotion-filled walk from his chambers to Merlin's gave him plenty of time to stew. Seethe. Time to build the baseless anger toward the manservant that is currently standing there, immobile. Staring vacantly at his bed. This enrages the Prince further.

"MERLIN!" He practically screams the name that is currently loathsome to him, and when even that fails to garner the idiots attention, Arthur snaps. The spoiled brat that could not stand to be anything less than the center of attention surfaces. Pushes through all the progress he has made. "You stupid, useless, good for nothing --!!" Arthur is still screaming. Words leeched from lips covered in a thin layer of angry, foaming spittle as he grabs Merlin by the shoulder. Spins the waif about to face him. When he sees the vacancy continued in those usually expressive, mirth filled eyes, he snarls. Feral and savage. Then pushes the younger man. Shoves his friend down onto the bed that had apparently been so fucking fascinating he didn't even have the common courtesy to realize Arthur had arrived in his dismal excuse for a room. 

"I should have you flogged and then put into the stocks!" Arthur's voice raises an octave, breaks in several places as he descends on his manservant (Because how could such a cowardly, useless excuse for a person be anything comparable to a FRIEND to the heir apparent of Camelot!?) One hand digs deep into the threadbare rags of Merlin's shirts, twisting the material until his fingers are a tapestry of red cross marks and swollen flesh. "Your job is SIMPLE, Merlin, and you cannot even do -that-! You are worse than a mongrel!" Arthur yanks the boy toward him, shaking him until Merlin looks up at him. When he is finally acknowledged, he drops the square of cloth in Merlin's lap with a hiss and grunt of disgust.

"Tomorrow, you will be on time. You will do -everything- in an orderly, timely fashion, or you will look on your days in those stupid fucking stocks as a godsend compared to whatever I decide to do to you next." With that, he lets go of Merlin, turns on his heel, and stalks angrily from the room. His exit so quick and pointed that he misses the utter, complete look of loss on Merlin's face. Misses the tears that begin and will not cease as they rain fat, hot drops onto the still bunched material of his clothing. He also misses the fresh, rusted copper tang of blood as more of it seeps from Merlin's wounds, colors the bed beneath him. 

Carefully, the young warlock lays the neckerchief on his bedside table. Pushes himself unsteadily to his feet, and turns to collect his blood soiled bedding. He has so very much to do, before tonight. And maybe, just maybe, if he gets the courage to .. he will end this bullshit once and for all. End this fucking charade.

With his bedding placed out of the way, where he can wash it without any chance of Gaius stumbling across him scrubbing out blood stains, he sets to work for the rest of the day. Though Arthur's words implied that he does not have to tend to his Sire today, he knows there are other things that need to be done. Like ... trying to find a magic spell, tincture, potion, ointment, or general concoction that will get rid of the forming bruise on his face without healing the damage to his poor backside. Because the presence of one, or absence of the other, would see him broken and bloodied by the end of the night and he knows his scarred mind will not survive that again.

He will take the cowards way out, before he tries to survive that. And he can't even find the heart to think badly of himself for this thought. He should hate himself. Should be cursing his own existence, but he can't.

Once he is sure that the other room is clear, he slips silently out and toward Gauis' work table. He bites at his bottom lip as he begins to look the supplies over. Herbs, flowers, leaves, metals, crystals ... so many different things assembled in an innocuous seeming array. With trembling hands, he carefully rifles through the different offerings, muttering to himself as he picks up various ingredients and almost immediately discards them in favor of something else. Until, finally, he has looked through every thing on the table and found no hope. Why would he? Hope is just another four letter word .. no different than hate, love, fear. 

He swallows heavily, feeling the hot sear of heavy tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He thrusts his lashes down quickly, hoping to trap them, but no such luck. Each tear falls. Punctuated by a whimper or sigh as he turns and carefully walks back to his room. Seeking solace in the silence of the only place he can actually call his own.

* * *

The sunlight is particularly harsh this morning, or so Arthur feels when it hits him dead center of the eyes and wakes him with a start. He is disoriented and confused as he rolls over onto his opposite side and tries to burrow deeper into the pile of blankets and furs resting heavily atop him. His fingers thread into the first solid piece of fabric he can find, and he drags the material up, over his head. The immediate cacoon of heat almost causes him to purr as his eyes flutter closed. His breathing evens out and in a few seconds, he is nearly sleeping again. Nearly.

Just as he begins to drift back to sleep, he remembers. More than he wants to remember. A terrified, shocked Merlin. Himself spewing expletives and nearly foaming at the mouth with anger that he cannot understand now. Why had he treated the man that way?!

"Damn it." He mutters to the darkness before he begins to carefully climb from underneath his blankets. The light hits his eyes again, and he curses a blue streak beneath his breath, and yet, doesn't have the heart to be mad that Merlin hadn't been there to close the curtains for him. Is he that fucking helpless at his own existence, that he cannot even lift his hands long enough to thrust a bit of cloth closed!? 

His breath falters, stutters to a halt for a brief moment as he struggles with the truth. If Merlin were gone, would he be capable of taking care of himself?? On second thought, he really doesn't want to know the answer to that. Some revelations must take a back seat to reality, and the reality of the situation is that he is the Prince of Camelot. He cannot afford to lose confidence in himself. He must be self-assured if he is to lead the Knights and rule a kingdom one day.

Carefully, he pushes himself to the edge of the bed. Scrubs his palms down his face for a moment, trying desperately to wake up. A sleepy-eyed scan of his chambers proves that Merlin is not present, and the Prince tries so very hard to ignore the clenching of his stomach.

"Too damn early for this." He ejects the words amidst a yawn as he pushes himself to his feet and looks around the room again. What is he supposed to do first? When he struggles to answer what should be a simple question, he finds himself falling to the edge of the bed again. The wind, and hope, knocked out of him. Because what hope does he have if he cannot even -begin- to understand how his day is supposed to start!? 

Several minutes and self deprecating thoughts later, Arthur has managed to make himself vacate the bed completely. A few more minutes of debate after that, he has opened his chamber door and asked a passing guard to find him a manservant. Very carefully making sure that the man didn't think he meant him to fetch Merlin. He thinks he owes his ... friend .... some down time after the tantrum he had thrown the day before. Okay, so truthfully, he's not even sure he can look his friend in the eye after the way he acted toward him. 

A sudden knock at his door jerks him from his thoughts and he starts to call to Merlin to see to the door. Then remembers. The one on the other side of the door is probably the man here to replace his manservant for a little bit.

"Enter!" He winces at the near predatory snarl in his voice, forced to remind himself that -he- had called the person here. This is his doing. All of it. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. You are?" It's unclear which one of them is more surprised by that entire sentence. The thank you, or the question of who he is. Before Merlin, Arthur would've called the man servant, if he were kind enough to call him -anything-. And thank you? Those words wouldn't have passed the Prince's lips unless he was addressing his Father or Gaius. Maybe Morgana on a good day.

"It is m-my honor, Prince Arthur. I am Henry, Sire." Arthur flashes a hint of a smile and nods a polite greeting to the servant before he waves a hand to indicate the room around him. 

"I need clothing laid out for the day, and once I am dressed, please fetch my breakfast." The servant hesitates for a moment, probably thrown off by the big fat PLEASE in the middle of that sentence. It hangs there, foreign and strange between them, before Henry blushes and turns to stumble toward Arthur's wardrobe in search of clothing.

"As you wish, Sire." Henry murmurs as he quickly rifles through the Prince's things and settles on a pair of Pendragon red breeches and a dark blue tunic shirt. "I believe these shall work, Prince Arthur." Henry turns and prepares to head for the chamber door and only stops when he sees the odd way in which Arthur fidgets. The way he looks between Henry, the clothes, and the door the servants is headed for.

"Erm .." Is that a word, or a clearing of the throat? Either way, it stops Henry in his tracks. The servant waits with a surprising amount of patients for Arthur to say something. Do something. And just when he is sure that he won't, the Prince clears his throat and waves a hand weakly toward the clothes. "I, erm .. I still require help, Henry." The shame and honesty in the Prince's voice rips through the servant, who is .. well, surprised barely scratches the surface! He has never had the occasion to serve the Pendragon heir until this moment, but he is well aware of the horror stories circulating about Arthur. In fact, they were cautionary tales passed from servant to servant with the same fear and reverence children pass about tales of the bogeyman.

"Of course, Sire." Henry flashes him a kind smile, and Arthur feels his heart tighten a little in his chest. The man has every right to make fun of him .. shun him ... at the very least, give him a condescending look or something! But he isn't. He's smiling, offering a kindness the Prince knows he does not deserve. He drops his gaze and sucks in a deep, quivering breath. 

His eyes flutter closed as he begins to undress from his night clothes. And he is shocked to find he is nearly moved to tears by the gentleness with which Henry helps him dress. Never once saying anything snide or rude. Just smiling and helping.

"All set, Sire." Henry smooths the material of the tunic before he turns and steps away from Arthur, who smiles appreciatively at the servant.

"T-thank you." The words are a grateful whisper before Arthur walks toward his desk. Henry bows faintly and turns to head off and grab breakfast for the Prince. The moment the servant is gone, Arthur falls gracelessly into his chair. He presses the sweaty expanse of his palms against his closed eyes and struggles to find some happy medium with his breathing, else he pass out if it grows too shallow and quick. He knows that tears are eminent if he's not careful, and it simply wouldn't do to be caught crying by anyone. Ever. He grinds his palms into his closed eyes before his hands fall to the desk top and he tries to focus.

"Sire." The sudden sound cuts through his thoughts and he jerks in surprise. And goes stiff when he sees Merlin walking into the room. Slowly. Limping. A tray is grasped in his hands, and he is concentrating so hard on it's contents, that Arthur doesn't know what to think. "Your breakfast, Sire." Merlin mumbles the words as he carefully maneuvers the tray onto the desk. Still, Arthur can't bring himself to say anything. Because he honestly isn't sure where to start. Why is Merlin limping? Why had he chosen to come back and work for him, after the way Arthur had treated him?? 

"Merlin, I --" The younger man looks up and Arthur's breath leaves him in a painful whoosh. He feels gutted. Or maybe, sucker punched in his gut. There are bruises all over Merlin's face. On his cheek, around his mouth, over his eye. The Prince is to his feet and around the desk in the blink of an eye. "My god, Merlin, what the hell happened to you?!" He can barely force the words past the lump of confusion and concern in his throat. He's so worried for his friend that he doesn't even register the fact that he's moving. That he's reached up to ghost quaking fingers over what looks like a scratch or small cut along Merlin's left jaw. 

"Nothing, Sire." The manservant bites the two words out with a grunt, jerking backward with a hiss of pain when Arthur's fingers make contact with his brutalized flesh. This, of course, only adds fuel to the fire of Arthur's raging emotions. Anger and concern are a fire stoked to blazing heights within him. "Your breakfast." Merlin reiterates, teeth gritting as he begins to unload the tray. Wine pitcher and goblet, plate of sausage, fruit, vegetables, cheese and bread. All of Arthur's favorites, in fact. Because of course, even after the shameful display in Merlin's room, the manservant would be looking out for the Prince. 

"This is -something-, Merlin. This is the very definition of -something-!" The Pendragon temper flares within Arthur's words, threatening to consume him. "What in the world is going on here?!" He shakes with the power of his demand, his hand grabbing at Merlin's shoulder. When the younger man screams, face contorted in pain, and jerks away, Arthur nearly jumps backward into his desk. "M-Merlin .." He whispers his friend's name, taking a careful step back toward him. Afraid of spooking him. When did things chance so much, that he must approach his friend as if he is a dangerous animal capable of attacking rabidly at any moment?? "Please. Let me see." 

Merlin shakes his head desperately, tears free falling down his pale, marked cheeks, and Arthur wonders that his heart hasn't shattered yet. Contrary to popular belief he does have one, and it does beat in concert with the well being of his loved ones. Despite the tears and head shake, Merlin doesn't pull back as Arthur carefully grabs the material covering his shoulder and pulls it back. The sight that greets him .. is horrible. A purpling bruise with teeth marks embedded and minute specks of dried blood. Arthur's stomach turns and words fail him. Completely.

"P-please, S-sire. Just don't." Merlin's hoarse, tear stained voice snaps Arthur out of his shock, his hand tightening in the material of the servant's shirt as he moves closer to him.

"Merlin, -please-. You have to tell me who did this ..." He's begging. The Prince of Camelot, future King of the greatest Kingdom in Albion, is begging a -servant- for something. If he were not so terrified for his friend, his ego might be in the middle of a tantrum. But then, if he wasn't worried, he wouldn't be begging like this. His other hand lifts, gently placing a palm across Merlin's cheek, wincing when he feels the texture of bruise and cut against his skin. So wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong.

"Arthur ... A-Arthur .." The name is a mantra. A prayer. A curse. Merlin wants to say so much. Confess. Explain that this is nothing more than what he deserves. But nothing else will escape the tight pain of his throat. Just his Sire's name. Over and over. Pleading. Tears fall fatter and hotter down his cheeks, and Arthur's fingers tighten in his shirt and begin to drag the man closer.

"Sire, they told me that Merlin already grabbed your .. break ... fast ..." Henry's words trail off, ending in a startled gasp at the scene before him. Battered Merlin, clutching at Arthur even as Arthur is dragging him closer. There is an intimacy in it that sends a curious tremor down Henry's spine, but he doesn't have time to contemplate it. No, all he has time to do is stare. Open mouthed, terrified, at the condition Merlin is in. Of course, unlike some servants, he doesn't jump to the conclusion that Arthur had done this to Merlin. No, it's too obvious that he hadn't. The bruises and cuts were too deep, too old. 

"Merlin!" Henry's voice drips with concern, anxiety as he tries to figure out what he's seeing. Tries to decipher some imaginary code that will give him all the answers. As if. "What in Gods name happened to you?" The servant stumbles closer, and Arthur isn't sure what he wants to say. How he should react. Part of him wants to step back and hope that Henry could get answers where he cannot. The other part of him wants to scream at the man for interrupting a private moment. He settles for prying his hand from Merlin's shirt and taking a few steps back.

Wrong answer. The moment Arthur's comforting presence has stepped back, removed the strange cage holding Merlin in place, he jack rabbits. He jerks backward violently, one shaking hand rubbing the tears angrily from his cheeks.

"NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED!" The manservant screeches those words at the top of his lungs, violently shoving Henry aside as he rushes for the door. Runs from the room as fast as his limping leg will allow.

"S-Sire??" Henry questions breathlessly, trying to right himself after tripping over his own feet during the shove. Arthur moves instantly, helping the servant right himself, shaking his head slowly.

"I .. I just don't know, Henry. He's been acting strange for so long now. And then, this ... I just ... I don't know." Frustration paints his words hues of agony, and the servant reaches out to pat the Prince tenderly on the shoulder.

"Maybe you should talk to Gaius? He might know what's wrong. I .. I will speak with the other servants. Maybe they will know something." He tries to form the words in a tone of reassurance, but he's unsure who he's hoping to reassure. Probably both of them. Arthur grabs the man by the shoulder, squeezing so gently. He doesn't have it in him to utter another thank you, but he doesn't have to. The man smiles sympathetically, nods, and turns to head out of the room. Leaving Arthur to stare down the breakfast he's no longer in the mood for.

* * *

The hours tick bye, and Arthur curses the progression of time. He had hoped to seek out Gaius after he choked down as much of his breakfast as he could. It had lost all taste. Made him envision licking the ashes from his fireplace, and he had nearly lost what little bit he had managed to consume. No sooner was the plate sent to the kitchen, than a guard appeared with a message from his Father. He was to spend the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon training the Knights. 

A task that usually brought him joy, but had begun to lose some of it's luster as of late. The reason for this is pretty obvious to everyone but the dense Prince. Merlin's shift in attitude has bled into the Prince's very existence, changing things. When Merlin sits on the sidelines, cold and unmoving, no playful quips, warm teasing, or anything else that marked the very core of the young man's personality, it brings every one down. Seeps away some of the light playfulness the Knights experience as they train. 

But, no matter how he felt about the task, he of course went straight to it. He is a duty-bound Prince and son before a friend. Even if he secretly hates that fact. Maybe, when he is King, things will be better. It has become his goal in life. One day, he will be a King worthy of this kingdom and the hopes and dreams he has been entrusted with. A man worthy of the respect of those he cares about.

So, down to the arena he went. Toiling away the hours teaching sword and shield to those that bare the honor of the title Knight. A title he has begun to rethink these last few months. If a person as talented and respectable as Lancelot could not qualify for the title, then surely something is wrong. He has never met one more deserving of it! 

In the end, one good thing can be said about training; it removes Merlin from his thoughts. For the most part. On occasion, his eyes would stray to the empty spot at the side, where Merlin would usually lean against the wooden arena, cheering and Ohh-ing when one of the Knights he liked scored a hit or took one. That is something that never ceased to amaze the Prince! How enthusiastic Merlin was when the Knights trained, and yet, had never thought to train himself. True, his manservant could never be a Knight, but still! He could at least learn to defend himself, but Merlin never showed any interest in it.

And then, there are the Knights! Arthur knows for a fact that the majority of the knights would have no trouble trying to teach Merlin. Most of them had taken to Merlin just as quickly as he had taken to them. Some were still standoffish and a little rude, but smart enough not to be mouthy or mean while Merlin was in Arthur's presence. Each and every one of them knew that Arthur would -never- tolerate open hostility toward his manservant. Though, what goes on when Arthur isn't there ... well, that he has no clue about.

"Sire!" Leon calls out in surprise when he lands a particularly harsh blow against the distracted Prince. Arthur's ears ring, his eyes closing as he battles down the vague pain of what happened. "I'm so sorry, Arthur!" Leon grovels, helping Arthur to his feet. Concern for his Prince, and his own hide, evident in his voice. 

"Peace, Leon. It was a good hit." He slaps the Knight lightly on the shoulder, grinning vaguely. He knows it's his own fault. He had let distraction get the better of him. Not a mistake he often makes, and had it been during battle .. well. Uther would no longer have an heir. Camelot would flounder for a future. He must not let distraction get the better of him again.

"Thank you, Sire." Leon beams, and yet, it is not as bright as it could be. Some part of him still hampered by concern for his Prince. Who merely smiles and moves to the side of the arena.

"Leon, take on Boggs for a bit." Arthur vaguely waves toward one of the younger, greener knights as he leans heavily against the wood. Directly in the spot Merlin usually occupies, though that fact has not made itself known to him, yet. He squints against the afternoon sun, features set in a stoic mask aimed at hiding the deep thoughts raging within. 

In fact, he is so distracted, that he misses the look of momentary anger that flashes across Boggs' features when he's assigned to fight Leon. Rather than being 'honored' to fight Arthur. The anger dissipates almost as soon as it flashes, and the newbie turns toward the Knight that towers over him. Features set in grim determination. If he would not be allowed to face Arthur himself, he would trounce his favored little pet! That should get him the recognition he deserves.

Of course, there is a major flaw in the idiotic plan of the arrogant knight; he isn't good enough to best Leon, in the least. In fact, Arthur is dragged roughly from his thoughts by the sound of an angry snarl, followed by a pained yelp. He jerks upward, standing straight, watching as Boggs tries to take a cheap shot at Leon and ends up with the flat of the Knight's sword across his backside. The image is so absurd, that Arthur cannot help himself. He bursts out into laughter.

"That's how it's done, Leon!" Arthur cheers, walking over to clap his friend on the back, before turning to look at Boggs, his expression unreadable. "If you are going to resort to cheap shots, Knight, you better make damn sure they work the very first time." Boggs' features redden to an ugly fuchsia color, his lips compressing in a tight white line as he struggles through the humiliation.

"It was not a cheap shot, how dare you accuse me of such!? Besides, whatever it was, it would not have been necessary, had you the guts to face me yourself!" The brassed off Knight is practically shaking with anger as he stares Arthur down. The other Knights, not surprising, have stopped sparring and turned to watch the spectacle. Though, the moment Boggs calls Arthur out, they take a collective step back. None so foolish as the newbie. 

"What did you say to me, Knight?" Arthur prompts, jaws clenched and grinding as he takes a few steps toward Boggs. Who is too ignorant to realize what kind of trap he has walked himself into. "You could not last a few minutes with Sir Leon, but you think yourself worthy of facing me!? Your arrogance and ignorance know no bounds, do they?" He jeers at the man, pulling his sword from his belt, teeth peeled back in a savage snarl. He has no idea why, but he is suddenly itching to hand this idiot his ass on a silver platter! "But fine, have it your way!" He screams the words a moment before he launches at Boggs. The first thrust of his blade unarms the Knight, the next thrust sees the sword smacking him in shoulder, then ribs, and finally rear, a moment before his foot connects with his leg and sends the Knight sprawling face first into the dirt. 

The other Knights cheer even as Arthur walks up and places his boot on the man's back. Pushing steadily, though not enough to hurt the man. Just add to the mountain of humiliation that must be crushing him.

"And -that-, Boggs, is the reason you were facing off against Leon rather than going a round with me. You are nowhere near ready for that. In fact, you are hereby suspended for the next two weeks. Once that time is up, you may begin training again. Get the hell out of here." The Prince grunts as he moves away from the felled Knight, who is now nearly crimson with anger and humiliation as he pushes himself to his feet and brushes off. He doesn't say anything, but his thoughts are an inferno of hatred. He will make the Prince pay. Oh yes! Though even he is not so arrogant or foolish enough to go at the Prince head on. He doesn't have a death wish, after all. However, he knows -exactly- how to lash out at the bastard. Merlin. He will make Arthur suffer through him. How sweet and succulent revenge shall be. He turns and stalks from the training field, horrid, vivid thoughts of the things he will do to Merlin swirling through his brain. Warming him from the inside out. 

"Leon, you and the boys have the rest of the day off. Go .. do whatever it is you lot do when I'm not around." Leon chuckles and thumps Arthur lightly on the back before he and the rest of the Knights vacate the practice field, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. Which is never a good thing.

* * *

"Supper, Sire." Henry's voice pulls Arthur back to the present and he turns away from the window he had been gazing out of. The scent of warm food and wine draws a rumble from his stomach, and he sighs despite himself. He had hoped .. well, he had hoped that Merlin would've been by at some point during the day. It was stupid of him to think that every thing would simply blow over. That, somehow, someway, this would get better without him having to go and -say- something. It is a wonder Merlin hadn't snapped long before now. 

"Henry." He drawls out, by way of thanks, without actually having to say the word. He crosses to his table and settles there, running his fingers through his hair. He is tense. Pulled tight and he knows he has no one to blame but himself.

"I spoke with some of the other servants today, Sire." Henry eases into the conversation as he places the plate of supper in front of the Prince. "No one has any insight into why Merlin has changed, Sire, though ... well ... every one has noted the change, Prince Arthur. The only thing I was able to establish, is that Merlin has been quiet lately, that he has taken on a few extra chores though no one knows who for, and that he has been seen sneaking about the castle. Every one assumed he was doing those things .. well, for you, Sire." Henry winces as he admits that, watching Arthur try to stare a hole through his plate, rather than eating. It has been an odd kind of chore trying to get the Prince to eat today, and Henry finds that he has even more respect for Merlin than he already had. 

"I see .." Arthur lobs a piece of chicken back to the plate, his appetite even less than it had been this morning. Why is he losing so much over Merlin!? It makes no sense to him! He leans heavily back in the chair, glancing up finally to watch Henry moving about the room. Putting things away. Making order of the general mess Arthur tends to create through the day. It is wrong. All wrong. Merlin should be here, putting things to right. Grousing and calling him every name in the book beyond Sire. It hurts, not having his friend here.

"I .. I know this is not my place, Sire, but ..." Henry trails off, winces a little when Arthur's intense gaze raises toward him. Scrutinizing him. "I .. I think maybe you should go talk to Merlin, Arthur. He may be more inclined to explain if there isn't a stranger in the room." The servant shifts uncomfortably, dropping his gaze almost the moment he has finished speaking. Arthur stares at the plate in front of him, his shoulders hunched yet tense. 

"Thank you, Henry. If you would, clear this away. I think it is time I retire for the night." Maybe, in the morning, he will have worked up the courage to go and see to his friend. Maybe. He clears his throat and stands from the table, moving back to the window he had been standing in front of moments ago. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his hip lightly against the wall next to the window as he stares into the courtyard below. So instantly absorbed into his thoughts, that he doesn't hear Henry exit his chambers with the uneaten meal. 

In fact, reality becomes a bit of a nonentity the longer he remains there. Staring into nothingness and pondering the likelihood that he could ever escape the life that is unfolding before him. And how odd is it, for the once spoiled Prince to consider -escaping- the life of royalty!! He has spent his entire existence being groomed to be King one day. It never occurred to him that there was any other kind of life he could lead. He is the Prince. One day he will be King. End of discussion. Or is it? Because ever since he went to Ealdor with Merlin, he has wondered if there is something else to life. Like family and the kind of devotion a King will never be free to show said family. He will marry a woman one day, name her Queen of Camelot, and produce an heir. But he will never be free to love his family above his Kingdom. This thought hurts. A lot.

At some point, as he stands there lamenting this knowledge, his eyes flutter closed and he finds himself daydreaming. He envisions himself standing in a clearing of green grass, trees rimming the area, creating a perfectly private place. His heart swells with happiness when he hears a child's laughter. He turns in just enough time to catch his son in his arms. He has big ears, sandy blond hair, and the most intelligent eyes Arthur has ever seen. More laughter, and soon, his daughter comes waddling over, giggling and babbling happily. She has wild black hair and the prettiest smile ever as she latches onto his leg. 

He jerks back to the moment, his stomach somersaulting, his heart aching painfully. He has no clue where the daydream came from, but he wishes it never had. Thoughts like those will only lead to more pain and he cannot stand the disappointment that would come from such things. He turns away from the window, seething in some fashion though he has no one to blame but himself. 

"Grow up, boy." He mutters the words under his breath, doing such a good impersonation of his Father that it makes him shiver a little. Never doing that again. He plops gracelessly into the chair at his table and reaches for his wine pitcher. He contemplates just drinking straight from the vessel, because it's definitely one of those kind of nights, but manages to make himself pour a proper cup instead. Of course, he downs that cup in one long pull and half of another before he allows himself to relax against the back of his chair. 

A cup and a half later, and Arthur is feeling pleasant enough for now. He isn't worrying about Merlin, contemplating his future, or in any way concerned with the official side of his life. For this moment, he is simply Arthur, having a drink and thinking about heading to bed.

Which means he -really- should've been expecting it to end. Because it always does, doesn't it?? Any time he has a chance to simply be, it comes crashing down in some horrible spectacle. This time is no exception. It's much worse than anything he could've expected, and he will never forgive himself for not realizing something was wrong much, MUCH earlier.

"Hnnngh!!" A sound of breathlessness combines with a sound of pain as something collides with his bedroom door. He's up to his feet in a second, rushing toward the door and throwing it open. He comes face to face with a flushed, wide eyed, -TERRIFIED- looking Gwen. Her eyes are large as saucers, her cheeks bathed in tears, and Arthur feels his heart lurch painfully. This can't be good. He and the woman had little reason to associate most times, so for her to be running toward his chambers ... it has to be bad. Her hands are trembling where they twist and clutch in her dress skirts.

"M-Mer-lin!!" She wheezes the name out, and Arthur sees red instantly. He grabs her by the arm and yanks her away from the door, trying to be gentle but so very worried. "P-please ... hurry ... M-Mer-lin!!" She gasps out, turning away from him. She takes off at a run, tripping and stumbling every few steps in her haste. Arthur right on her heels.

* * *

This is it. Finally, this horror is going to end, and even though it's going to end badly, Merlin cannot help but feel ... relieved. Because either way, he will never hurt again. He will never curse his own existence and think himself better off dead, because he finally will be. And yeah, okay, this is most -definitely- not the way he envisioned his life ending. In fact, he has been torn between thoughts of living to a ripe old age and dying young when Uther realizes that he has magic. Never had he thought that he would be abused to death. 

When he woke up this morning, he didn't think this would be his last day on this earth. If he had, he knows he would've done so many things differently. For starters, he wouldn't have yelled at Arthur. No, he'd probably have kissed the idiotic prat. Square on the lips, consequences be damned! Hell, he'd kiss Morgana and Gwen too. Might as well, yeah? He'd also have walked right up to Uther and showed the bastard King the truth of his power. Watched as Uther fucking Pendragon broke something in that peon little brain of his trying to reconcile the fact that the 'bumbling oaf' he sees Merlin to be, is actually one of the most powerful warlocks ever born. 

But no, instead, he spent all day in pain. Scared, alone, and trying so hard to pretend that this horrible lot in life is not his own. But of course it is. He's cursed. For the first time in his life since learning that he has magic, he wonders if he is being punished for the fact. If everything befalling him these last few weeks, is a payback for being born the way he was. Could the King of Camelot be right? Is all magic evil and punishable, in the end??

No. No, of course not, and he cannot allow himself to think that way, no matter what he is going through. What is being .. done ... to him ...

After leaving Arthur's chambers, he had slunk back to the kitchens and got a little breakfast for himself. Retreated to a nook in one of the unused sections of the castle and forced himself to choke down the food. Each bite turned his stomach. Caused a geyser of bile and fear to churn inside him as he struggled not to dwell on what evening would bring. What fresh horrors he would have to endure at the hands of that bastard. Like last night. He had been right, of course. The man had gone insane with anger when Merlin showed up with a bruise on his face. 

Which is why he had intended to make sure that he arrived early tonight, in the condition he was expected. ANYTHING that might lessen the anger and hatred that would be directed at him. What he had -not- expected .... was for Boggs to come looking for him. Hatred seething from his every pore as he stalked through the corridors of the Castle in search of the manservant. 

And when he found him? Merlin has never wished for death so truly.

* * *

"YOU!!" Boggs screams the word, accusing and hateful, as he spies Merlin walking down the hallway, on his way toward Gaius' chambers. The young warlock freezes, instantly recognizing the voice, the tone, the hatred, all of it. That voice has become his living hell. He barely manages to lift the tumultuous tumble of his lashes, barely manages to view the irate Knight through the spider web of gossamer silk before he is hit. No pretense. No pretending. No faking. Just a right hook that catches Merlin square in the jaw, snapping his head to the side with enough momentum that he feels his temple connect with the rough hewn stone of the nearest wall. Then there are starbursts of bright light across his gaze and a litany of venomous curses as Merlin's world crumbles a little further.

Cold steel grips Merlin's wrists and he screams in agony as pressure is applied. Bruises quickly form, and yet, the pressure doesn't let up. Pain crescendos when the sour snap of bone indicates one of his wrists has been broken. He tries to scream. He really does. But nothing less than a pathetic breath manages to escape as his vision begins to swim.

"P-please .. what did ... I .. do .. this time ... m'lord??" He sobs the desperate question, teeth digging into his bottom lip when he feels his broken wrist wrenched beneath the steel gauntlet. He tries to scream. His mouth forms a bloodied 'O' of pain, but no sound escapes. Instead, he feels the burn and bubble of bile churning in his gut as the snapped bone grates and grinds against itself.

"You. EXIST." The knight growls the words against the shell of Merlin's ear, before hungry teeth tear at the skin. Pain interlocks with pain, blood running down the warlock's neck, Boggs' hot, slimy tongue chasing the vitae. Licking it from flesh rendered clammy and waxy. "You, a pathetic, useless -servant- breathe the same air I do. You are -nothing- and yet, you are friends with the Knights. Arthur Pendragon -himself- suffers you as he does no one else." The more the Knight speaks, the more his rage paints his words. The harder he twists Merlin's broken wrist in his gauntleted hand. 

The sound of bone fragment ripping muscle and flesh, grinding against itself, creates a symphony of torture that Boggs feeds upon. Each whimper of pain from the caged servant delights and arouses the sadistic bastard. Feeds his egotistical need to inflict even more pain. A vicious cycle of cause and effect, desideratum and desire.

"You are lowborn scum and yet, you have the ear of the heir of Camelot." The words are coming faster now. Grunted growls of rabid rage as he uses his free hand to shove Merlin against the wall he had clipped his temple upon. Taking a grim satisfaction at the fact that Merlin's nose explodes against the rough hewn stone in a shower of blood and gore. A crimson streak paints the surface, and the man actually laughs at it. Laughs. The sound is chilling, psychotic and Merlin feels his stomach drop out in sheer terror. The pain is bad enough. The cartilage of his nose has broken in several spots and already he is finding it hard to draw in a breath past the congealing blood, snot, and splinters. But the -fear- of the man holding him prone far outweighs the physical pain. 

He has stared down death so many times. Drank poison to save a life, stood up to a Gryphon twice, so on and so forth. He was afraid in every one of those moments, because despite his recklessness, he doesn't -want- to die in his day to day life. And yet, he stepped up. Did whatever it took to save innocent lives and keep Arthur breathing. And yet, this situation, -this- moment, is the most afraid he has ever been. Even the thought of facing Kanen and his raiders to save Ealdor had not bred this amount of agony and terror in him. 

"Tell me, -Mer-lin .. what sweet little tricks do you have, that you've lasted longer than any other servant?! Why do the other Knights permit you to scurry about at their heels like a bitch in heat!?!" By this point, Boggs is screaming. At the top of his lungs. Every word an anthem of hysteria and hate. "Is that why, -Mer-lin!?" He sneers, drawing the warlock's name out in a mocking version of Arthur's playfully affectionate tones a moment before he slams Merlin's face against the wall. "Do you wag your pretty little ass for them, -Mer-lin!?" All sense of sanity seems to have left the Knight's voice, leaving it raw and intense. "That's it, isn't it, you fucking WHORE!" The word whore is cloaked in spittle as he spits the hateful word from drawn lips. Merlin shudders when something cold and slimy lands on his throbbing cheek, so close to his battered nose. "Well, then permit me to show you how -whores- are supposed to be treated!" He leers the word whores, adding as much disdain and disgust as he can into the title. 

"P-please .. no ... m'lord ... noooo!" Merlin is wailing. Forceful, quivering, desperate -wailing- as he tries to beg the bastard to stop. Not to do .. whatever it is .. he's about to do. Through all of this .. the assault, the horrible words and insults, it doesn't occur to Merlin that he has the power to end it. Right this moment. This very -second-, he could make it all end. A few muttered words in the ancient language, and the bastard would be dead. But his mind doesn't work that way. He doesn't think to use his natural gifts to hurt a person, even if they are hurting him. 

"This .. is all .. you are good for ... -Mer-lin!" The seething words cause a wash of hot, foul breath across the warlock's cheek as the hand that clamps his broken wrist so painfully finally lets go. That is -not- a good thing. Not in the least. The moment the limp, swollen wrist is free Merlin hears the tearing of fabric. Feels a harsh, cold air against his backside and he screams. Earsplitting, loud. Begging in wordless wails for someone to save him. "SHUT UP!" Boggs' fist slams into the back of his head. Not hard enough to crack his skull or do permanent damage, but enough to make Merlin see stars. To make his entire body sag limply as his eyes flutter closed. 

It all happens so fast that all Merlin can register is pain. Searing, raw pain followed by the gummy flow of blood from torn flesh. The acidic burn of being forcefully penetrated wrenches another scream from his dry throat, choking him as he struggles not to pass out from pain and blood loss. He struggles to hold a spray of vile bile at bay. He has been pummeled and manhandled for talking back, he cannot begin to imagine what the sadistic bastard will do if he gets sick.

"S-stop .... stop ..... s-s-stop ..." He sobs the single word over and over again. Creating a prayer that he fears will never be answered. Or, if it is ... he has begun to believe the only way Boggs will stop .. is once he is dead. Once he has finally killed the young man caged against the wall. Each thrust forward by the Knight sends Merlin slamming against the unyielding surface. He barely manages to turn his head enough, that it is no longer his nose that suffers, but his cheek. He can feel the laceration of the flesh with each collision. 

Sob after sob is ripped from his clogged throat, tears mingling with blood to create a sickly pale pink sludge dripping down his cheeks and chin, staining his shirt in macabre sorrow. 

".. stop .. p-please ... m'lord .. stop ..." The same mantra, chanted over and over, though he holds no illusions of his pleading cries stopping the son of a bitch from brutalizing him. In fact, with dawning horror, he realizes that it is garnering the opposite reaction. The bastard becomes rougher, crueler with his assault. Merlin tries to scream, but it is a hoarse, almost silent whoosh of breath when he is pulled away from the wall only to be driven roughly into it again.

"Shut. UP!" He snarls, his teeth ripping into Merlin's ear at the top curve. The warm, salty vitae pouring into his mouth makes the knight shudder with pleasure and his thrusts become uncontrolled chaos as his need builds. Merlin manages to scream again, the harder, wilder thrusts nearly bringing him to his knees. 

_Please hurry up ... please just hurry up and be over ... please just finish and kill me ..._ the words are on a repeat loop through his mind, trying to use the words to bar the pain and degradation, trying to drown out what is going on by keeping his mind occupied. Even if it's in the agony of wishing for death.

"Should .. gut you ... rid .. the world .. of your pathetic --" Boggs words are laced with the putrid, coppery scent of Merlin's blood as he bellows gutturally into his face. The Warlock is not sure what drives him to do it ... what causes his eyes to snap open as he feels a gauntlet pressed harshly against his unmarked cheek. His vision is blurry, veiled by the tears that are still gushing forth and the pain that is making everything more difficult. But still, he sees the approach of a menacing figure. His first thought is that of embarrassment and shame. As if somehow, what is happening, is truly -his fault- and he is to -blame- for being seen in such a situation. 

His eyes close so tight that it hurts. Further pain added to the fabric of his soul. He doesn't want to be here .. doesn't want to be -seen- like this, but he cannot simply cease to exist. No matter how badly he wishes to at the moment. He feels the impact of something hitting Boggs, in turning sending Boggs barreling roughly into him. 

"Guhggg!" The sound of blood filling a mouth, spilling out across skin is the last thing Merlin hears before he feels the weight taken from his back. Feels the only thing keeping him upright taken away. With a deep, despairing whimper, he falls to the ground in a bloodied, broken, undignified heap. He has a single moment to see the blood splattered features of Arthur Pendragon kneeling over him before he falls away into the blissful arms of unconsciousness.

* * *


	2. Lead Me Home (Carry Me)

* * *

"GAIUS!!" Arthur screams the Physician's name at the top of his lungs, hearing it reverberate around the stairwell as he heads for the older man's chambers. He is struggling to hold Merlin, having refused to allow anyone that he came across to relieve him of his burden. NO ONE would carry Merlin, not now, while he is in this state. He trusts none but himself to get his friend to the Physician in one piece. 

"Gaius!" He shouts again, ready to kick the door down moments before Gaius wrenches it open, frowning.

"What on E -- Merlin, my boy!" The Physician gasps and immediately turns and hurries toward the table, clearing what little was there so that Arthur could deposit the Warlock atop the worn surface. With infinite care, Arthur lays Merlin on his side, making sure that his unharmed cheek comes to rest on the table top. "What happened to him, Arthur?!" The man's voice is coarse and trembling with emotion as he tries to take in every spot of damage at once. Nearly going cross-eyed with the exertion of it!

"He was .. oh, Gaius .." Arthur chokes up despite himself, reaching to scrub his hands down his face, feeling the sticky, gummy texture of drying blood all across his features. He nearly gets sick. "He was being .. abused .. by a -Knight-, Gaius. He was busted up and bloody when I got to them. Boggs was .. was .." Arthur can't bring himself to utter the truth. He turns and rushes to the side of the room, grabbing up a bucket to retch into as the seriousness of the situation fully settles upon him. Merlin was being raped by one of his Knights. He had failed his friend. 

"M-Merlin .." Gaius whispers, heart broken, as he looks the young man over. "The damage is extensive, Sire. I will do the best I can." Arthur's hands furl into blood speckled fists at his hips, pressing hard enough there that he may bare bruises.

"You have to fix him, Gaius. You -have- to." He whispers so soft he's not even sure he has actually vocalized anything. He's terrified. Scared to death that Merlin will not survive this. And he doesn't mean physically. He's afraid his friend's mind might be cracked. If it is? Arthur doesn't know what he will do, beyond knowing he will blame himself. 

"Sire!" Leon comes dashing into the room, drawing up short when he sees the bloodied mess of Merlin on the table. Arthur tenses, struggling not to grab the man and forcefully shove him back through the door he entered. He really doesn't want anyone to see Merlin like this. Within a breath, he knows that it would have done him no good. Leon rushes the table, a sound stuck somewhere between a growl and a whimper ripped from his throat as the scent of blood and other unsavory things assault his senses.

"Merlin!" In this moment, he would rend and tear the one that had laid the servant so low and suffer not a single night without sleep over the action. He reaches down tentatively, laying his bare hand as gently on the servant's shoulder as he can, afraid of breaking him further.

"Leon!" Arthur hisses angrily, battling an irrational desire to smack the Knight into next year for touching the servant. He knows that he has no right. Leon and Merlin are friends. But seeing one dressed as a Knight .. touching the broken young man .. it nearly sends him into a rage. It is taking so much willpower to suppress the feeling.

"Sorry, Sire. I .. yes, yes, sorry. I am here because the King requests your audience in the Throne Room. Now." When he sees the Prince gearing up to argue, he hurries on. "He knows that you brought Merlin here, and demands your presence all the same, Sire. I am sorry. Shall I sit with him?" 

"That son of a --" Arthur grunts, clenched fists snapping hard against his hips to rein in his tongue before he speaks too ill of his Father ... the King .... he exhales sharply, a single nod of his head.

"Watch over him, Leon. No one but you two and myself are allowed in this room. NO ONE. None of the knights, not Morgana or Gwen, no one." He barks the order to his friend before he turns and hurries from the room. The sooner he sees to whatever bullshit his Father wishes of him, the sooner he can return to Merlin's side. Though he knows that it will be a struggle to keep his temper in check. After all, the great King Uther Pendragon has never hidden his dislike of the servant. So, sadly, Arthur is prepared to hear the worst upon entering this meeting. Summons. Whatever it is.

* * *

Uther Pendragon is standing in the middle of the throne room, a rather menacing scowl painting his features. Spread atop a table before him is a bloodied sheet covering the pierced body of one of Camelot's Knights. To say he is unhappy would be a vast understatement. He is quietly seething, his temper a volcano ready to erupt and he has no doubt his son will be the cause of it finally bubbling over and burning his kingdom to a cinder. Arthur has the ability to stoke his temper to extremely high levels and with that idiotic little servant of his involved? This is a headache he does not need.

Just as he is turning from the covered corpse, the heavy wooden doors of the throne room open, admitting his grim and bloody faced son. Arthur's steps are slow, steady, but there is something subtly dangerous about them as well. He is a wild beast cornered, preparing to claw it's way to freedom no matter the cost.

"You wished to see me, sir?" Arthur's tone is cold, his words clipped and concise as he stares his Father down.

"Yes. It seems a ... situation .... has arisen and we need to do some damage control." Uther turns back toward the table, frowning darkly as he contemplates their options. In his mind, there aren't many. In truth, he can see but two options. "The death of Boggs is a complication we are not prepared for, Arthur. The fact that he was killed by his Prince?? This has the potential to ruin many of our ties!" He snaps the last words out, his gloved fist tightening. The leather squeaking faintly.

"..what??" There is not a proper descriptive word for the amount of anger, disgust and disbelief in Arthur's voice as he levels that single word like an accusation at his Father.

"We have but two options at this time, Arthur, and none to blame but you and that ridiculous servant of yours! Appointing that little fool to such a position was the biggest mistake I ever made! He has been nothing but trouble since arriving in Camelot." The King snarls the words, impious and wrathful, before he whirls upon the Prince in his anger. "Thanks to him, we either we Lord Colton to Camelot to oversee -your- punishment for the wrongful death of his son, or we send that disgusting servant of yours to him, to do with as he pleases. Whatever possessed you, that you would kill one of your -Knights-, Arthur!?"

The Prince stands a few feet from his Father, his King, and wonders if he even knows the man any longer. To hear such words spewed from the one he has viewed to be the epitome of goodness, righteousness, and justice?? It hurts him. Deep down inside, where the soul may or may not exist. 

"Have you lost your fucking MIND!?" Arthur rasps darkly, his hands twining behind his back in hopes that they will not furl into deadly fists. He's prepared to beat the bastard to death. "Merlin is fighting for his life after what that sorry son of a bitch did to him, and you are trying to lay this at -HIS- doorstep!? And then, what, -blaming- me for killing the bastard for raping, beating, and mistreating a HUMAN BEING!?" Arthur's practically shouting now. He turns away quickly, putting more distance between them before he really does launch himself at his Father and try to beat him to death. Because right now, he truly thinks the man deserves it.

"Arthur --"

"Shut up! Boggs deserved far worse than he got. Even if I could somehow put aside the fact that he was -assaulting- my friend, he was a goddamn KNIGHT, and capable of such cruelty! Of beating and raping! You should be -thankful- I rid this kingdom of a repulsive excuse for a human being. If his Father thinks his son was -wrongfully- killed, then I would question what kind of bullshit he's been teaching those in his lands. Because if he thinks it -justified- to treat someone in such a way simply because they are a servant, then I would see his Lordship revoked!" Now, the Prince truly is shouting. Screaming his displeasure at the top of his lungs! He would have every Knight, guard, servant, peasant and Lord within hearing distance know the truth of his Father and King in this moment. He has never been so disappointed in the man before.

"How -dare- you speak to me this way!?" Uther screams right back, advancing on his son with such speed that it actually catches Arthur off guard. Which is the only reason he is able to land the blow. He backhands his son hard enough to send Arthur sprawling to the ground, a few specks of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "If you, for even a single -second-, think to compare the life of a KNIGHT to that of a SERVANT, then you are a fucking failure, Arthur!" The Prince winces, having never heard such language from the man. But then, he has never seen such raw, open hatred on the man's face, either. Not even when faced with Magic and Corruption in Camelot. "Merlin is a waste of space compared to the man you killed in his defense. The boy is a servant! He is there to be used in any way a nobleman or noblewoman see fit! He was smart enough to know his place .. a lesson you have yet to learn, apparently." Arthur's mouth is agape, his eyes slightly glassy with confusion as he watches his Father. As he listens to the LUNACY pouring from the man's open maw. This makes no sense. This is -not- the man he remembers. 

"At first light, Leon and a few of my -trusted- Knights will gather Merlin and deliver him to Lord Colton Boggs. Hopefully, the life of the peasant will be enough to stave off his anger. If not .. well, you will do your duty and face whatever recompense he demands of you. Short of death, of course. I will shape you into a future King yet, no matter how disappointing you are." Arthur carefully pulls himself to his feet. Reaches up to rub a knuckle across the corner of his mouth to wipe away the blood pooled there. It is coppery and gummy and he feels as if he's going to be sick. Sadly, he thinks it is the behavior of Uther, and not the taste of blood, that is turning his stomach.

Silently, he turns away from the mad King. He forces his fists to unfurl as he exits the throne room. He will not scream. Will not rave and rage against the man or the situation that man has created. Instead, he allows his thoughts to flow to the only logical conclusion left to him; he must save his friend.

* * *

Leon stares quietly down at Merlin. He had wanted to reach for his hand, but Gaius immediately warned against it. One wrist was broken, the other bruised and swollen. To try and hold Merlin's hand would reduce the poor, unconscious man to agony and that is the last thing Leon wants. 

"I am used to hating the enemies of Camelot, Gaius .. all Knights are. I am -not- used to wanting to murder one of our own. Had Arthur not killed the bastard for his actions .. the rest of us would have." He cannot believe he is admitting to such a thing. But how can he not? Their friend is laying on a table .. each breath is wheezed from broken lips. Each movement, no matter how minute, telegraphs the world of pain the poor young man currently exists in. Leon wants retribution. He wants to gnash bone, rend flesh and sup blood. 

"Peace, Leon. Merlin would not wish you to distress yourself so much on his behalf."

"Of course he wouldn't! He's better than that. He would hate the man for hurting any of us, might even be foolish enough to try and stand up to him, but would not understand us wishing to do the same." Lean leans down, looking into Merlin's soft, broken features and he wants to cry. But cannot. He must be strong for his friend ... and for his Prince. He knows Arthur. The state Merlin is in will destroy the Prince if he is not careful. He will need the strength and conviction of his men to see this through.

"Merlin is truly one of a kind." Gaius sighs as he speaks those words, his voice wavering a fraction. He has been unable to look at Merlin save with a Physician's eye. If he looked upon him with anything personal, he would be useless to help him. Because he would shatter at the state his surrogate son is in. 

"Truer words have never been spoken, Gaius." Arthur's voice is strained, weak, as he enters the room. The Knight and Physician both jump in surprise at the tired and defeated tone of his voice. Neither used to hearing such in their Prince.

"Sire! I hope all went well with the King. Will we be preparing Boggs body?" Leon settles back on his seat, reaching up to rub tiredly at his eyes. When the Prince does not answer immediately, he feels unease settling in his gut. He doesn't like that feeling in the least. 

"No, Leon, it did not go well with the King." Arthur admits this so begrudgingly. He would rather keep his own council, but he is still so very angry at what transpired. "The King has decided that Merlin is to be delivered to Lord Colton Boggs. They are taking him in the morning to .. to be -punished-. A peace offering to make up for my killing the bastard." He is struggling not to seethe, but he can't stop it. He still wishes to rage over what is happening. "And if his Lordship decides that I must be -punished- for choosing the life of a servant over that of a Knight, I am to pay any recompense but death." 

Leon's mouth falls open in astonishment. His entire body sags on the chair, and he .. well, he cannot begin to comprehend what his Prince is saying. MERLIN is being blamed for all of this!? The poor young man is to be sent to his possible death over this?? He inhales a sharp, hissed breath, his head already shaking in disgust. And despair. 

"No! There must be .. this must be .. just no! His Highness cannot possibly seek to -punish- Merlin over what that asshole did to him!" His hands clench into trembling fists, his eyes wide as saucers as Arthur begins to slowly nod.

"That is precisely what I am saying. The King even struck me, for trying to stick up for Merlin." This time, Gaius and Leon are both to Arthur's side in a second, disbelieving looks marring both of their features. The King had struck Arthur!? "I cannot allow this to happen. I just -can't-. Merlin has given everything of himself for Camelot, despite not being born here. He has risked his life for others .. I cannot .. I -will not- allow him to face what Uther wishes for him." 

Leon and Gaius exchange looks, before they both glance to where Merlin is laying, and then back toward the Prince.

"We will help any way we can, Arthur." Leon's words are soft but blisteringly heartfelt. He knew that Gaius would do anything for the young man, and in this instance, he will, too. Arthur looks around for a moment, before he pulls the two men back toward the table, further from the door.

"I am going to take Merlin from here. I highly doubt Uther remembers where Merlin came from, despite his Mother asking for help for his village." He snorts derisively, no longer respecting the man enough to call him King or Father. "Hunith deserves to know what happened to her son. Deserves the chance to help take care of him." Gaius turns away when Merlin releases a sudden whimper of pain. Arthur nearly bowls poor Leon over to get to Merlin's side.

"Shh, Merlin." Gaius soothes softly before he returns to his table of concoctions. "A bit of this .." He mutters to himself, quickly mixing different components into a vial. "I will administer this to him, and then I will go about finishing with the dressing of his wounds. I would suggest waiting until the middle night, Sire. I will do my best to have him prepared." 

"Thank you, Gaius. Leon. I will have you on patrol tonight, keep everyone away from the stables. I will take Merlin's horse and we will sneak out. Before you begin patrol, bring some provisions here. Thank you." He gives one last look to where his friend is curled up, before he turns and heads out of Gaius' chambers. He would much rather be in here, even if he could do nothing more than pace. However, he knows that would simply alert his Father to something. No, he reluctantly but silently makes his way toward his own chambers for now.

* * *

Gaius frowns. That deep, dark frown conjured from the pit of his broken heart. He has to send Merlin away. This thought is not one he is prepared to accept, but he knows he has no choice. He was to protect the lad, and he has failed. Because of that, the only -safe- place for Merlin .. is beyond the reach of Uther Pendragon. 

"My dear, sweet boy." He sighs softly as he stands to the side of Merlin's form. The youth had not yet awoken despite the fact that Gaius forced a potion down his throat, dressed his wounds, and set his broken wrist. This worries him. He wishes that he could go with them, run from the Castle and follow his Prince and ward to Ealdor. However, he knows that he cannot, for many reasons. First and foremost, Camelot still needs him. (Morgana especially.) 

"I am sorry, Merlin .. I failed you, son." He whispers the words, his voice hitching painfully as he nearly chokes on his emotions. He turns quickly away, walking into Merlin's room. He expects Uther to arrive for Merlin in the morning, and finding the young man gone, to question him and then tear the place apart. So, while he has a moment, he carefully pries up the old wooden plank that Merlin uses to hide things and wrests the magical tome from the space. It is dangerous, of course, to send such a powerful, damning tome away with Merlin, but it is better out there, than here. 

He carefully wraps it in fabric and places it in the very bottom of the satchel Merlin had arrived in Camelot with. He packs the few bits and bobs the young man had acquired while here and then secures it. He must lay faith in the belief that Arthur will not snoop through Merlin's things. Once that is packed, he carries it out to the main room, settling it next to the small satchel of provisions that Leon had been able to pilfer for the two. 

"Gaius." Arthur's voice is soft and so full of exhaustion that the older man's heart goes out to him. Prince Arthur has made many rash decisions in his life, and the Physician cannot help but wonder if this will be one of them. He is putting everything on the line for Merlin. "How is he?" The Prince approaches the prone form slowly, trying to steel himself for whatever he is about to see. 

Merlin is settled on his side, still. His body is wrapped carefully in a blanket, but Arthur can see so much gauze, still. All over his face, his hands. He feels his stomach shift and shudder and he swallows heavily. He must not give in to his despair. He must be a force to reckon with, to help his friend. 

"He is .. alive, Sire. That is all I can speak on at the moment. He has yet to wake up, and though that is cause for worry, it may serve you as well. Hopefully, he will sleep through a good portion of your journey." With a deep breath, he goes about showing the Prince how to care for Merlin. From administering the potion, to cleaning his wounds and redressing them, and checking the splint on his wrist.

"Thank you, Gaius." He walks up to the older man, hugging him tightly before he pulls back and takes a deep, careful breath. He can do this. He can defy his Father to save Merlin's life. "Goodbye, Gaius." He murmurs softly, before he turns and grabs the two packs. He carefully lifts Merlin up, onto his back and makes his way out of the Physician's chambers. Down the stairs, out into the courtyard, he quietly picks his way across to the stables.

He settles Merlin and then carefully saddles the horse he had gifted the servant with shortly after he came into his service. 

"I am sorry it has come to this, Merlin. To run from Camelot .." He flinches painfully, sucking in a shaky breath as he turns to lift Merlin onto the horse. Carefully laying him on his stomach before he leaps up into the saddle. "I will not let that vile prick hurt you." He whispers the words softly, his gloved hand passing gently across the undamaged curve of Merlin's jaw before he carefully guides the horse out of the stable and through the streets of Camelot.

* * *

On and on Arthur pushes the horse, trying to block out the soft sounds of painful protest arising from Merlin every few minutes. Try as he might, he will never be able to fully deaden his heart, and the deep seated pain he feels at every sound his poor friend makes is proof positive of that fact. After seeing the way his heartless Father acted, though, he is slowly becoming glad to realize that he has emotion left. 

"If ever I become like him, Merlin .. I .... I may as well end myself." This revelation is met with a sound he had not yet heard from the unconscious man. It's a soft, gentle whine sound in the back of his throat. For a moment, Arthur envisions it as a pleading NO kind of sound, but quickly dismisses the notion. It is merely another noise of pain or discomfort. "I wish we could keep going, but if I do not sleep .." He sighs, reining the horse in by a copse of trees. The thicket is designed in such a way that they can hide out inside of it, as long as Arthur doesn't build a fire. 

He slides from the mount, wrapping the reins in his hand to guide the animal into the trees. The scent of wet foliage and dry earth rips a sneeze from him and makes him curse softly beneath his breath.

"Bless you." Merlin's voice is rough and gravelly. The sound of it causes Arthur to jump with a grunt whirling around. Merlin looks up at him with pain filled eyes before passing out again. The amount of relief the Prince feels is overwhelming! True, Merlin was out almost as soon as he awoke, but he -did- awaken! It means there is hope that he will recover. Because he was truly terrified that he might be bringing Merlin back to Ealdor to die. The thought of doing so was breaking his poor heart. 

He gently lowers Merlin to the ground, pulling out the potion that Gaius had sent. He carefully works some of it down Merlin's throat, before settling the younger man for the night. With Merlin and the horse squared away, he manages to fall into a light, much needed sleep. Prepared to wake at the first sign of trouble, though trying his hardest to remain down.

* * *

Meanwhile, as Arthur undergoes the arduous task of trying to get Merlin home, the Castle is awaking and it's not good. At first light, Leon and three other Knights had been dispatched to gather Merlin and transport him to Lord Boggs Kingdom. Gaius was asleep in Merlin's room when the Knights stormed in, prepared to take the young man.

"Gaius!" Leon calls out, frowning. At the same moment, he taps one of the Knights to fetch the King. "Gaius, please!" Leon calls out, the older man slowly opening Merlin's door. His knees popping and creaking as he takes the few stairs down, into the main room.

"Forgive me, Sir Leon, I was sleeping deeper than I expected. It was a long night." He rubs gently at one watery eye, frowning as he sees the Knights mill about. "Is something wrong, Sir Leon?"

"Do not try your old man routine with me, Gaius! Where is the boy!?" Uther Pendragon storms into the room, taking every one by surprise. Even Leon, despite the fact that he had sent for the man. But then, he had expected it to take several more minutes before the King would appear. Which suggests that Uther had already been on his way. That upsets the Knight, though he is smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Forgive me, your Highness, but I do not understand!" Gaius frowns, turning to look questioningly at the Knights before he looks around the room. "I have just woken up. I am unsure what you think me to know! When I finally managed to sleep last night, Merlin was sedated in here, on my old cot, that the Knights could transport him this morning. Arthur insisted that I sleep in the room, so that I would not be awoken." Gaius hates having to lie in this, but what choice does he have? He must protect himself while Arthur is away. The same for poor Leon.

"Arthur!" Uther snarls angrily, turning to look at those in the room. "The Prince has disobeyed a direct order from his Father, the King. He has absconded with the servant. I want patrols out to search for them, now! Leon! You will lead the Knights. Have one of your rank gather the guard to create a secondary search team. GO!" He whirls upon Gaius then, frowning darkly.

"And you! Where did the boy come from? What disgusting little rat spit village did he come from?" He demands wrathfully, Gaius refusing to back down from the King's anger.

"I do not know, Sire! I knew his mother years ago, when I was much younger. At the time, she lived in a village to the south, Yarrowsway. Her letter to me did not say where she was living, only asked that I take her boy in as an apprentice." Gaius sighs, moving toward the table that still held bloody rags and a soiled sheet, wincing as he carefully wraps it all up to bin it. "But what of -you-, Your Highness? Did the boy's Mother not come to you, asking aid for her village? Surely she -told- you where that was during her audience?" Gaius maintains a conciliatory tone, though deep down he is fuming. The King is so pathetic that he would not even be able to remember such a thing! Because Hunith had been the Mother of a serving peasant. Hardly worth the great Uther Pendragon's time.

"Bah! Am I to remember the plight of every goddamn peasant that asks for my help?? Hardly! Arg! One of his friends are sure to know where he would run to." Uther turns, growling and snarking to himself as he stomps out of the Physician's chambers. He will have answers. He will have the servant returned and punished and this entire mess put behind him. And Arthur .. he will have the ingrate dealt with and re-educated for his disobedience.

* * *

Two days, and Arthur is crabby and cranky, and he knows that were Merlin just a little better, the poor man would be suffering his displeasure. He would bemoan the slow pace, the terrible sleeping conditions, the fact that they are leaving Camelot behind. All of it. 

He would give anything at this moment, for Merlin to be that well. That they could sit there, Merlin cooking a supper consisting of something Arthur had hunted, the two of them grousing back and forth as they usually would. He cannot believe that he misses such a simple thing, so deeply. Almost as much as he would miss his sword arm, were it summarily removed from his body.

"I miss your whining, Merlin. How messed up is that??" He rubs his fingers through his hair, wincing at the scratchy quality of it. He is dirty, tired, and aches in places he is not used to doing so. Even his head hurts. He rubs gently at his temples, before he pushes himself to a standing position to check on his friend.

Merlin utters a single noise of discomfort before settling deeper into his silent state. 

"I miss you, Merlin." He whispers those heartfelt words so very softly before taking up his position on his bedroll and sinking into a troubled, superficial sleep. As per usual, ready to come awake at any moment should he have need of it.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, Arthur feels relief welling from deep inside him. The scent of fire, baking bread and cooking oats sets his soul -ablaze- with happiness. Finally, their destination is reached. The aroma of Ealdor is familiar, despite having been there but once. It smells .. like home. That thought is painful. Camelot has always been home. The place of his birth ... the place he was destined to rule one day. But Ealdor feels more like home.

He slows the horse to a light step, glancing down to make sure that Merlin is settled as comfortably as he can be. Several days, and the younger man has barely awoken. A time here or there, a few murmured words, but nothing to put Arthur's mind at ease. For the dozenth time, he wishes that Gaius had come with them. Surely the Physician would know if the young man were going to pull through or not. (Though Arthur refuses to think that it could be any other way. Merlin MUST wake up! He MUST be okay!)

"Prince Arthur??" A semi-familiar female voice calls him from his thoughts and he glances to the right where an older woman is standing. She's struggling to carry a bucket, which she sets at her feet as she watches the Prince on horseback. Arthur scrambles down, a faint smile on his handsome features.

"Kara." He greets her gently, reaching down with one hand to grab the bucket she had been struggling with. The other hand wraps tightly in the reins of the horse. "Please, just Arthur, madame." He glances at the bucket and nods toward her. She turns and begins to lead him through the edge of the village, toward her home.

"As you wish, Arthur." She smiles faintly at him. "What brings you to Ealdor this time?" She asks, motioning for him to set the bucket. Once it is down, he moves closer to the horse, frowning.

"I'm looking for Hunith, Kara." He prompts softly, Kara turning to eye him for a moment. She hadn't paid much attention to the horse once Arthur had dismounted. Though a glance toward it reveals nothing more than what looks like a stack of blankets or bundled clothing across the saddle. 

"I spoke to her just a few moments ago. She should still be close to home, if you hurry. I am sure she will be glad to see you again." Though, whatever news he is bringing, she doesn't think Hunith will like it. She bids him good day, grabbing her bucket and heading inside.

Arthur turns, guiding the horse away from Kara's. He is dreading this. Of course he is, how could he -not-!? He is bringing a broken young man home to his Mother. Merlin had not been this shattered when Ealdor was besieged and Will killed protecting Arthur. What does it say about him?? That he is returning here with the poor young man in such a state?? For starters, it proves that Arthur was not strong enough to protect his friend. It also proves Will right.

Those words are a bitter pill to swallow mentally. Will was right. Arthur had put so much ahead of protecting Merlin and now this ... He stops in front of Hunith's home. It is small, rundown, yet still a more cozy and true home than the sprawling halls of the Castle ever could be. 

He needs to go in. He needs to knock, call out, in some way -present- himself but the thought terrifies him. He doesn't want to do this, but at the same time, he does. Because he needs to. He needs to do this for Merlin.

"Arthur?" He jerks and jumps, his hand tightening on the horse's rein so that the animal does not spook and run away with it's precious cargo. "I was not expecting you, sire." Hunith's soft, matronly voice will always be a treasured thing to him. It is no secret that his mother died when he was born. He has never had a motherly figure, so when he came to Ealdor and -saw- Merlin interact with his mother ... it created this aching void deep inside of him. 

"Hunith." He tries to keep the emotion from painting his voice but it isn't to be. No sooner has he spoken her name, than he feels the hot prickling of tears against his eyes. He wants to throw himself to her feet. Beg forgiveness for needing to be here. Instead, he feels himself enfolded gently in her motherly embrace. Feels a hand roughened by honest work rubbing against his back and it soothes him. Riles him up more. It creates a contradiction that burns within, but he has to ignore it. No matter how much he wants to sink further into her arms and pretend, for a single moment, that he has a Mother that loves him .. he cannot. He is here for Merlin. 

"I wish I were here with good news, Hunith. I'm so sorry .. something has happened to Merlin." He turns, quickly steps away from her before she has a real chance to process his words, let alone act on them. He ties the horse up, making sure the reins are secured. And then, with infinite care, he pulls the precious bundle from the creature's back. Flinches as he watches Hunith hurry for her door to throw it open and admit him.

Silently he enters, carrying Merlin to the small, lumpy bed in the one room home. The bundle of cloth mewls and shifts as Merlin is carried, and Arthur can feel his heart leap into his throat. Hunith's features contort into a canvas of horror and fear and Arthur would give anything to ease her breaking heart.

"I am sorry, Hunith." His voice cracks and shatters as he lays Merlin down.

"L-let me see him." She demands in withered tones and Arthur complies. Even if he wishes to spare her from the sight. Gently, he peels the cloth back, moves each fold to try and find the human huddled within. But some parts of the white cloth are stained with weeping rust and Hunith gasps when Merlin moans in pain again. Each tug of the fabric pulls at his damaged skin and Arthur is blinking back a fresh wave of tears by the time Merlin is finally visible.

"Oh, sweet gods .. my precious boy!" Hunith wails softly, her hands gently wringing as she tries to take in every inch of damage at once. It's too much. The blood soaked bandages, the wrapped wrist, the bruising and cuts and .. she cannot take it. With a choked sob, she turns, hurtling toward the firs object she can find.

Arthur beats her to the bucket. He drags it toward the poor woman, holding it steady as she loses the meager contents of her stomach. His other hand runs slow, soothing circles across her back, his eyes closed tight against the sight. Because, even if not -HIS-, she is a Mum and no Mother is supposed to look so reduced. 

"I am so sorry, Hunith. I failed Merlin. I cannot ask your forgiveness for this, or expect to ever receive it." His hand stills, his words tumbling from pursed lips as he struggles to keep himself from breaking down. He is Arthur Pendragon. Even for Merlin and Hunith, he will not allow himself to blubber like a fool. 

"Arthur .." She sighs the Prince's name before carefully straightening. She turns and faces him, her features hard and unreadable. Her stare so intent, so soul searching and capable of -seeing- .. that he actually begins to squirm beneath the intensity of it. "I do not blame you for this, Arthur Pendragon. You did not do this to him, of that I have no doubt. But you will tell me one thing, my boy ... did you get whoever, -whatever- did this to my Merlin?" Her voice has transformed. It's a lioness' roar of fierce protectiveness. She wants to know that whatever caused her son such damage is dead, and -that- is one thing that Arthur can give her.

"Yes, Hunith. The bastard that did this is dead. Killed by my own hand for hurting Merlin." His conviction is strong. Unwavering. He has just admitted to killing, but he doesn't care. Because it was justified. He glances over at the still passed out form of his friend and his heart falls. Again. "I .. it was horrible, Hunith." He squeaks. The greatest knight the Five Kingdoms has ever seen, squeaks and he's too emotionally exhausted to give a damn that it has happened.

"Sit, Arthur." She demands softly, turning to grab the bucket and carry it outside. While he settles in a chair at the small table, she turns and begins to move about the kitchen area. She fixes them both a wooden cup of watered down wine and settles across from him. "Tell me. I do not care how .. harrowing the tale .. tell me what happened to him. Please." 

He grabs up the cup, staring into the watery red depths. He cannot begin to imagine how this information will help her, but she has asked, and he will not deny her. 

"For several weeks, Merlin has been .. changing, Hunith. He stopped talking. Started calling me Sire and Prince and .. anything but what he was -supposed- to call me. I actually began to miss dollophead and prat." He gives a bit of a stilted, mirthless laugh as he thinks on that. He -missed- Merlin's disrespect. How is that logical in any way!? "I tried to get him to talk to me, but he refused. Other servants even tried to get him to open up, but he wouldn't. Bless, but how did I -not- see that he was hiding something??" His hand tightens on the cup, forcing him to set it down before he broke it.

"My son is very good at misdirection, Arthur. Merlin has been keeping secrets his whole life. Please, do not take that personally, there are very good reasons for everything he has had to do. You could not have gotten the truth from him, if he did not wish you to have it." She reaches across the table, seeking out one of his curled fists. Her hand lays tenderly atop it, a Mother's hand of concern and it is his undoing. His hand unfurls immediately, taking hold of her's. Grasping it like a life line. 

"I did not react as a Prince should have, Hunith. Even less as a -friend- should have. I got angry at him, for not opening up. I said such horrible things." He sniffles, struggling to keep the words flowing from a throat trying to close up. "He showed up injured while I was speaking to another servant, Henry. We both tried to get him to explain what was happening. Instead, he exploded. He cursed and screamed and neither of us knew what to do." He sucks in a trembled breath, his hands raising to rub at his face. Scrubbing and scratching at his cheeks before he leans back in the chair.

"Arthur Pendragon." She speaks in the Mother voice. The one that makes Arthur immediately sit up straighter. That makes him -listen- where he would usually be inclined to ignore and continue shouldering the blame. "You are not perfect, Prince or -not-. You were here for Merlin when he needed you, my boy. You put your life on the line to save a village that was not your responsibility. And you did that, -because- you are his friend." He sniffles, exhales a sharp, single breath and gives a shaky nod of his head. As always, she seems to see to the heart of things and he is thankful for her. 

"Thank you." He murmurs the words that were once foreign, but now flow so naturally. "I was trying to settle in for the night, which amounted to .. well, nothing more than staring out my window, when Guinevere came rushing in. She was terrified .. so winded from running that she could barely speak. She said Merlin's name and I saw red. I had to find him ..." He blinks, a harsh thrust of lashes colliding when he feels the first specks of moisture pelting his cheeks. He's crying. The greatest weakness and he is succumbing to it. "Wh-when I found h-him .. he was .. was .." The tears flow freely now. Cascading down his cheeks, wetting his tunic shirt in hot, frustrating torrents and he can speak no more.

He tries to exhale but sobs. A fully choked, watery, blubbering SOB and he's drowning too deep in the action to feel self conscious or hate himself for letting it slip. In the very next second, strong arms are wrapped around him. He is pulled sideways, his head pillowed against Hunith's heart as she holds him. Her hand cradles the side of his face, while one arm rests around him. Protective and comforting. All the things missing from the poor Prince's life.

"It's alright, my boy. It is not a weakness to cry, Arthur. We need the tears to wipe things clean. Let them out." She murmurs in soft, gentled tones. Coaxing him to finally let his emotions through. So he clings to her. His hands dig into her shirt at the sides, rumpling and creasing he fabric as he sobs. Tumultuous shockwaves rumble through his body as the sobs rack him. 

Time seems to die. Or, at least, drag to an emotional stand still as he cries. He is vaguely aware of Hunith rocking his body as she holds him. It soothes his nerves. Calms him and allows him to finish crying. Slowly, he pulls back, looks at the woman with red, puffy eyes.

"Thank you, Hunith." She reluctantly pulls back as well, moving to settle in her chair again. She waits patiently, watching as Arthur casts a furtive glance at Merlin, and then looks back to her.

"When I found them .. one of the Knights, a man named Boggs was .. he was raping him. He had beaten him bloody, broken his wrist, and he was ... I ran him through, Hunith. I killed him on the spot for what he did." He sucks in a shaky breath, struggling not to break down into tears again. "I rushed him to Gaius, but I was called away by the King." Arthur struggles up, out of the chair. Begins to pace the short distance. 

Just thinking about what Uther said has him on edge. Ready to tear something apart to vent his rage.

"Who informed me that I was -wrong- to kill Boggs over the life of a servant. I .. I told him off. He slapped me and said that he would have -trustworthy- Knights collect Merlin the next morning and deliver him to Boggs' father. In hopes of smoothing things over, he was giving Merlin's life to the nobleman to do with as he pleased." His anger builds and builds until he can't take it anymore. He reaches down, slamming his balled up fist against his palm, hissing in pain at the burn of the hit. 

"Arthur .." Hunith's voice is hoarse with concern. Her eyes wide. If Arthur had defied his Father, then ..

"I will not return to Camelot, Hunith." He speaks the words so softly, that he's not even sure he has said them out loud. He takes in a deep breath, holds it until he nearly feels dizzy with it, and then exhales slowly. "I cannot go back to Camelot while Uther is King. I renounce the bastard." He growls the final words and they are met with a gasp.

Not from Hunith, though.

"Arthur .. y-you .. have to go back. Al..bi...o..n... needs you." Merlin wheezes the words, sitting up under his own steam. Arthur releases a breath of relief. His body suddenly unclenching, going completely limp. The exhaustion of barely sleeping, taking care of Merlin, and the emotional toll of every thing that has happened hits him. He releases a second sigh as he collapses to the ground. Out cold.

* * *


	3. Day By Day (Find Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The much awaited finale of the story!

THWACK! Pause. THWACK!! Pause. The heavy thunk of an ax splitting wood followed by the soft silence of the next log being set up is a rhythmic cadence that acts as a soothing balm to Arthur's nerves. It is simple, easy. There is nothing demanding his time, his attention, his decision. His thoughts are silent and his heart is unburdened. 

THWACK! He watches the final piece fall into place, the corner of his mouth turning up just a little bit. The closest thing to any true emotion he has shown in the past few days. He moves carefully, squats next to the iron apparatus that he carefully begins to stack the firewood in. The scent of wood chips and sap draws a sneeze from him, and even that is kind of comforting. Because it means he's -working-. It means that he has done something productive that will benefit those around him, and not just himself. 

With infinite care, he stands, wraps his gloved hands around the long, thin iron bar of the apparatus and lifts it. Grunting with the exertion, he turns and carefully walks away from the wood pile and ax, heading back into the edge of Ealdor. Swift, surprisingly easy steps carries him past the outskirts of the village and toward the main thoroughfare. He stops momentarily, gloved fingers flexing about the metal as he takes a moment to orient himself.

And then, he's off once more. From one house to the next he goes, stopping long enough to stack a few pieces of wood beside their doors, never once announcing himself or his work. Sooner or later, each inhabitant will peek out, spy the wood, and gather it inside. Arthur does not seek recognition for his help, simply seeks to help. A far cry from the arrogant prick that had harassed Merlin upon his first day in Camelot. 

"Arthur! Arthur!!" A young voice interrupts his routine, his hands clasping tighter at the carrier as he allows his tired, hooded gaze to seek out the source of his name. Three children come barreling toward him, all eager, awkward limbs and bright, sunny smiles and Arthur finds that he cannot contain the little grin that softens his features. 

"Well, if it isn't the Trio." He drawls out as he lowers the carrier. Two boys and a girl, roughly 5-7 years old, come to a stumbling stop that reminds him so fully of Merlin, it causes a bit of an ache in his heart. Because he is sure that these two are the spiritual twins of Merlin and Will at their age, and it pains him mercilessly that he didn't have the chance to know the two at such an age. 

He could easily close his eyes and imagine it, however. Can picture himself as a little boy in Ealdor, snickering every time Merlin's clumsiness sent him tripping over thin air. Scowling every time Will said something snarky. Grinning brightly every time he brought Hunith a bug or toad that she would secretly hate but still beam at him sweetly about. The ache grows, his lashes fluttering almost aggressively to clear the sudden sting of tears that threaten to fall. Wood dust and pollen in his eyes, must be.

"Art'ur, Art'ur!" The girl squeals happily, clapping her little hands as she gazes up at him with such a worshipful look, one would think he had hung the sun and stars or something. Secretly, he wants to preen at the fact that these children seem to view him like an older brother or something. "Here!" She thrusts her arms up and out suddenly, and Arthur laughs despite himself. He carefully sets the carrier down and falls easily to his knees on the dusty path. He surveys the wood left in the carrier and plucks out the smallest piece he can find. 

"Alright, little lady." Arthur's features harden ever so slightly as he takes on the same serious, no-nonsense face he would wear when he was training his knights. "This one is about three pounds heavier than the last one, so be ready." He takes a deep breath, watches as the playfulness in her young features immediately becomes a look of concentrated determination. The two young boys with her suck in a breath and hold it as they watch. Carefully, Arthur places the hunk of chopped wood into her out stretched arms. Balances it perfectly so that each arm carries the distributed weight. He will not cop to it, even to himself, but he is reluctant and a little afraid to pull back. To let go of the wood so that her arms are the only things supporting it. So, he does so slowly. Sucks in a deep breath and holds it until it burns like pitch in his lungs. Then, and only then, does he allow his hands to drop to his sides. Tightly held but ready to spring forward and take the weight if it is too much for her. 

She utters a single whimper, so low that Arthur almost misses it, but he never gets the chance to take the piece of wood back. Because she huffs out a determined breath and then lifts the piece of wood a little higher, whooping in triumph when she is able to hold it aloft.

"Tashy! Tashy!" Both boys whoop and holler for thier friend, Arthur grinning brightly. He must lecture himself silently when he fights down the desire to whoop like a youngling as well.

"You did it, Tashy. Morgana and Gwen would be very proud of you. I know I am." He leans over, carefully presses a kiss to the top of her wispy hair, and then stands to grab the carrier once more. He is in no way surprised when the girl struggles to keep pace with him, the two boys trailing after them making a happy, youthful raucous. Together, the four of them deliver the rest of the wood, until only two pieces remain in the carrier. The last door they arrive at is Hunith's, of course. He carefully lays the carrier by the door and turns to face the three children. Who are beaming happily up at the Ex-Prince. Arthur grins languidly, holding his hand out. Carefully, the boys grab the last piece of wood from Tashy and hand it off.

"You did good, little lady. You are well on your way to being as strong and formidable as Morgana." He reaches out to tousle her curls, causing her to giggle and swat at his hands before she turns and runs off with her friends. He watches them go, unable to hide the brilliant, happy smile that softens his countenance.

"I'm still not sure if I should be applauding you or boxing you 'round your ears for encouraging that girl." Hunith's mirthful but stern voice never fails to make Arthur jump in surprise when she manages to sneak up on him. Like now. He barely manages not to flail or make some undignified sound before he cuts his gaze toward her.

"Boxing would be of the bad, in my opinion. While applause is always welcome." His grin becomes a little cheeky, and he -knows- that he's been spending too much time around Merlin when his friend's sass is coming from his own mouth. A fact driven home by the amused huff Hunith gives before her small hand smacks him gently on the shoulder.

"Watch your mouth, Arthur. Cuffing your ears is always an option, now." She smiles warmly, matronly, to cut any perceived heat from the comment, not that the Ex-Prince would've read anything like that in the words. Instead, he grins even broader, brighter, and reaches out to squeeze her shoulder gently before he grabs up the wood and heads inside to stack it with the rest.

"Forgive me, Hunith. I shall watch my mouth as best I can." He dips an over exaggerated bow once the wood is stacked, causing the woman to laugh softly and make a shooing motion at him with her hands. 

"Yes, yes, I am sure, Arthur. Get on with you, now. Oh. Here." She turns suddenly, walking the few feet to the kitchen area. She grabs up a small towel wrapped about something and passes it off to Arthur, who takes it gently. "I .." She flinches, a quivering tremor of a reaction that plucks at Arthur's heartstrings and makes his blood boil. He wishes he could bring Boggs back and kill him, several times over, for all the pain and grief his disgusting acts created. "I know he will refuse, but ... you have managed to get through to him, where I cannot. Please, try again." She reaches for a small pitcher, hands quaking visibly as she hands it off as well. 

The once spoiled young man finds himself struggling to keep his own hand from betraying him as he reaches for the pitcher and draws it close. Because he has never felt so low as he does now, when he actively does not -want- to see his friend. Some part of him, shoved deep down in the dark depths of his being, questions if there is anything left of his friend in the shell that looks like Merlin. He hides this doubt and fear because he knows that it will do no good for anyone, and if he has learned nothing else these past few months, it is that he must put people before himself. Especially those he cares for. Those he loves.

"I make no promises, Hunith, but I will try my best. If today .. is a bad day .... nothing will move him to do what he does not wish." He glances down into the shadowed depths of the pitcher, before abruptly turning and making his way toward the door.

* * *

Arthur is dragging his feet in a way he has never done before. Every thing in his life was treated like a mission that must be faced ASAP, with dignity and if at all possible, gusto. Prompt action has been his creed for as long as he understood what the word meant. So, to be actively dawdling is almost a physical pain to him. It registers as an ache deep in his heart, a throbbing in his muscles and bones that leaves him feeling weary and used up. 

However, sooner rather than later, he has come upon his destination; a field of wheat at the far edge of town. From here, he can hear the soft waves of a lake undulating from the faint breeze. He can hear the muffled thud of a hoe churning soil, breaking up weeds and returning them to the dirt to help fertilize the growing crops. The shifting tangle of fabric as each thrust of the tool is made. Is it strange that these sounds have become a comforting part of the symphony of his life?? The absence of any one of these sounds would tear the fragile echo system of his life apart. Demolish the little bit of peace and hope he has eked out here in Ealdor.

Impassively, he allows himself to scan the field, seeking out a familiar mop of shaggy, unruly raven hair. It has grown longer, messier. A nest that frames the slightly sunken features of his best friend. The moment he spots a few stray strands held aloft by the faint breeze, he feels the familiar tugging in his gut. The slow roil of his instincts as heat laps up his spine and curiosity settles in the front of his brain. What would it feel like, carding his fingers through it? Feeling it brush his cheek or bare shoulder? Would it be brittle or textured silk? He bites desperately at his bottom lip. Rolling it between his teeth until he feels it swell with blood and heat. He's sure it's red and lush, but he silently dismisses the thought as his feet begin to operate independently of his mind.

He picks his way to the edge of the fences, huffing a breath that sends his blond bangs into a momentary whirl before he settles against the rough hewn wood. Carefully, he sets his burden down, the towel and pitcher balanced on one of the fence posts so that he can cup his hands around his mouth.

"MERLIN!" He shouts the name of his best friend and marvels at just how .. different it sounds. Gone is the almost fond exasperation, the daily annoyance he often felt for his incompetent manservant. In it's place, a deep seated sense of affection that he has yet to label. In the end, he sees no reason to, actually. Labels are directly responsible for the two of them being here. Boggs had taken the label of Knight and decided it meant he could do whatever he wanted and get away with it. Had taken the label servant and decided that Merlin had to take whatever he gave him. And he ... well, he had suffered every day of his remembered existence laboring under the impossible standards of Pendragon, Prince, and Royal. Been nearly destroyed by the chasm created between the two of them because of their status. He wishes never to adhere to a label again.

He blinks absently, clearing his vision of the past, focusing in just enough time to see Merlin silently picking his way across the field. Arthur sucks in a deep breath, holds it hostage in his lungs until they spasm and 'scream' with the need to exhale, but he hesitates. It is self flagellation, of a sorts. Punishment for allowing Merlin to become some scarred, frayed ghost haunting the village of his birth.

He exhales just as Merlin gets close enough that he can hear it. An ebon brow hikes upward, but no words leave the once talkative young man's mouth and Arthur wants to hit something. Wants to beat something into submission so that Merlin can be Merlin again. Carefully, he holds the pitcher out to his friend, who stares at it for an overly long period of time. When he realizes that Arthur isn't going to back down, he finally relents. With dirt-crusted palms, he lifts the pitcher close and sniffs vaguely at the contents.

"It's that ridiculous sweet wine you like so much. Hunith has been saving it for you." His nose wrinkles a little and he is trying to project his best look of slightly rumpled disgust, but he's sure Merlin can see the fondness in his eyes. It's the one part of him he has never been able to turn into a liar. His eyes will give him away every time. "Merlin." He growls, his eyes narrowed as he watches his friend continue to stare down, into the pitcher, rather than do something. Like drink from it. "I swear to god, Merlin, if you don't take a drink of that disgusting stuff, I am going to pour it down your throat. I am -not- going back to Hunith and telling her that you refused it." He takes a step forward, until his stomach presses lightly against the wood of the fence. "I don't have to tell you that your Mother is a scary woman. -You- grew up with her!" 

This draws a small smile from Merlin and Arthur really just wants to break down and cry when he feels like this is some giant victory. He feels more victorious than he has after any tournament, successful defense of Camelot ... even more victorious than any of the hard won compliments his Father had given him. A bare hint of a smile from the young man that couldn't stop smiling ... it guts him as much as it calms him. 

"Right, then. Drink. Now." To his utter surprise, Merlin does just that. His palms tighten around the pitcher, dirt flaking away as he lifts it and takes a sizable drink rather than the vague sip he had been expecting. Something in him unclenches and softens at the sight. It's not a cure-all. Merlin is not fixed because this seems to be a good day, but he's .. better ... and that is all that Arthur can hope for. He reaches out, gently peels back the threadbare towel and nearly drools at the scent of fresh baked bread with a hint of apple and cinnamon. A fond smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

The apple bread is Merlin's favorite. When Hunith explained how she used to make it for a young, sad Merlin, Arthur vowed that he would find a way to afford the fruit and spices needed to make it. In the end, he went hunting. It took two full deer to trade for him to get apples, cinnamon, extra eggs and sugar, and a bit of milk. The bread had been baked and the sugar and milk had been sued to create a sweet-glaze across it.

He pulls a chunk of the bread off, surreptitiously glancing at his friend from the corner of his eyes. When he realizes that Merlin hasn't so much as glanced up at the sweet, earthy smelling treat, he scowls. Hard and momentarily furious. It had taken a -lot- to make this little treat for the younger man! Not even thinking about the work of hunting, killing, and cleaning deer then hauling them around to the various places to trade. Hunith put a -lot- of work into making this! He rips off another chunk and doesn't even hesitate. He lobs it at Merlin's head, smirking when it strikes him in the temple and bounces down to the ground.

Merlin's eyes lift, wide and confused, toward Arthur. It's only when he's looking at his friend, that his nostrils flare and he realizes what has been uncovered from the towel. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment, seeming so very unsure ... before he allows his mouth to drop open. Arthur's features light up with a smile as he tears a smaller piece. Usually, he'd throw it, see if he could land a piece in Merlin's mouth, but he's feel ... god, he's feeling all domestic and warm at the moment. So, instead, he reaches out to gently place the apple bread in Merlin's mouth, watching as his cheeks fill with red warmth before he begins to chew. 

"Your Mum went to a lot of work to make this, you know. I expect you to eat most of it, Merlin." Arthur draws his eyebrows together, waiting expectantly. Merlin reluctantly pulls a hand from the wine and grabs a large hunk of the bread to begin nibbling on. "Good boy." Arthur calls out, making his tone as obnoxious as possible. 

Merlin blinks several times, before he levels the Ex-Prince with a look that he has come to think of as his 'dollophead' look. Seconds later, Arthur splutters in utter surprise when his hair plasters to his face. Red, sluggish rivulets of wine running down his features. He splutters again, wipes his sopping bangs out of his eyes, which are wide and shocked.

"You .. did not .. just ... do that .... **MERlin**!" He snarls those words before he easily clears the fence and takes off after his friend, who has the good sense to run as if his life depends on it!!

* * *

The sound of the door opening and feet stomping across the hard floor draws Hunith from the piece of cloth she is carefully repairing. She lifts her eyes in just enough time to see two red-stained young men enter the house. Her hand flies to her mouth, fingers pressing against her pursed lips as she struggles not to outright giggle at the state their in.

"Oh, my boys!" She huffs an exasperated giggle, causing both of them to go instantly still and turn their wide, 'innocent' eyes on here. "I distinctly sent that wine to be consumed, not worn." She pushes herself to her feet, depositing the clothing in her seat before she walks toward the two. She reaches out to push sticky, stiff bangs off of Arthur's forehead, placing a kiss on his cheek before she turns to Merlin. She carefully brushes some wine off his cheek, shaking her head with that all too fond smile of her's. "Go on, then. Off with you both. Take a change of clothes. I'll not have you tracking this mess through our home!" She huffs again before turning back to her seat.

Merlin ducks his head sheepishly, turning to head toward his things. Arthur hesitates. In truth, he's frozen to the spot. His legs have suddenly forgot how to function. His mind no longer understands the meaning of forward momentum, because Hunith called -both- of them -her boys-, and called this house -our- home. She has neatly and gently blanketed Arthur in her family and it feels more real than anything in Camelot ever had. He's not sure if he should be happy or terrified, actually. 

The sound of shuffling pulls him from his thoughts and he has just enough time to reach out and pluck the bundle of clothing Merlin has hurled at his face out of the air. He turns abruptly and practically runs from the house, heading away from Ealdor toward the lake on the other side of the village. He doesn't have to look behind him to know that Merlin is following the same route. In fact, all he wants is not to face his friend at the moment. He's stripped down bare and in the water by the time Merlin appears. As usual, he makes sure that he's not facing him at all, giving Merlin full privacy to strip and enter the waters.

They bathe in silence, Arthur not really feeling the need to talk for a change. Instead, they clean the dirt and wine away. It is companionable and comfortable. Two things they have worked very hard to become.

Once they're both clean, Arthur lets Merlin climb out first. Waits for the faint grunt that signifies he's dressed. He walks out, shakes the excess water away, squeezes it from his limp hair, and then begins to dress. He knows that the main reason Merlin will not allow himself to be seen without clothes is because of the actions Boggs took against him, but it is also because of the scars caused by the events. To Arthur, those scars will never matter. They will never be blemishes or flaws. They are proof that Merlin is pretty damn strong. Strong enough to survive every thing that son of a bitch dished out. But to Merlin ... he knows they matter to -him-, so he will not belittle the trouble his friend is having in dealing with them. He will just try and be there for him.

"I saw the Trio earlier." The words pop out as he finishes pulling his shirt on. He hears the sharp intake of breath and he grins. He knows that he's not the only one little Tashy has ensnared with her winning personality. Merlin spends as much time as he can around her as well. "Tashy is getting so strong, Merlin. She's going to be a proper spitfire, just like Morgana and Gwen." He winces the moment the words have formed on his wet lips. Merlin deflates almost instantly at the naming of thier friends and he wishes he could take it back. But he can't. Shouldn't, even if he had the means. Because his friend will have to deal at some point. 

"Come on, Merlin. We've had a long day." He starts to reach out. He wants to throw his arm around his shoulder. Squeeze him to his side and run his fingers through his damp black hair. But he can do none of those. Boggs took that right away from him! So, he stiffens a little, holds his hands at his sides though he is fighting a dozen differet instincts to do so. Silently, they head back home, each lost in a different part of their minds.

* * *

Arthur glances out from behind the rough wooden screen he and Merlin sleep behind. Hunith had tried to insist that they take her bed. First, so that Merlin could heal. Arthur had agreed to that. Given the fact that they were not sure Merlin would survive that first night, he had been terrified to let him lay anywhere else. Second, once Merlin was healed, she insisted that Arthur should sleep there, as it would be closest to anything he would be used to. He had tried to keep the stinging insult of the words from his face, but he hadn't succeeded. In the end, he told her that he would not take her bed, but would continue on the floor. So, once Merlin was well enough, Arthur had scrounged up more blankets and they had created two bedrolls side by side. So surprisingly close, in fact, that one or the other would often awake in the dead of night and find the need to disentangle themselves from the other.

Tonight, Arthur has lain his bedroll a little further than usual. Something .. unsettles him, though he isn't sure what. It's a little niggling thing at the back of his mind. The harder he tries to concentrate on the feeling, the more elusive it becomes. So much so, in fact, that he momentarily feels as if he is losing his mind. Thus his separation of bedrolls. It's not a big, major move or anything. He hasn't relocated from **their** spot, but it is a safe enough distance he is not aware of every little breath and sound his friend makes in his sleep.

Like now. His breathing has become feathery and frayed, as if he is struggling from one to the next. Because he is. Little half aborted whimpers are chased by huffs and flinches and Arthur wants nothing more than to drag himself back close. But he wouldn't stop there. He knows he couldn't. He wouldn't stop until their bedrolls were merged into one and he had his arms around the younger man. This thought .. this **-truth-** , it frightens him. He has come to think himself as low as Boggs for these thoughts. After all, it is painfully obvious that Merlin had not wanted the Knight's advances, and while there could be dozens of reasons for this, Arthur assumes the center point is simply that Merlin has no interest in his own gender. The gender shared between them. So, the fact that he cannot tamp down his desires for his beautiful, traumatized best friend, means that he is bordering on Boggs' behavior. He disgusts himself.

"Naahhh-gahhh." It's the closest thing to a formed word he has heard Merlin utter in almost six months and it is little more than an agonized vocalization. So now, he is conflicted. To feel joy at the fact that -any- utterance has happened .. or to be completely gutted at the pain of it all. 

"M-Merlin.." He stutters his name, exhaling it into the thin air that separates them. Again, he is hit with the desire to move closer. Eliminate the distance and be with his friend. Instead, he shifts his back against the bedding, frowning at some invisible point equidistant between them. He can feel the telltale burn of tears beneath his eyes and he wishes to hit something. Tear asunder bone and meat, scream and rage in the face of some living adversary that he may render them unto death! But that life is behind him. And good riddance! For once in his miserable life, he is allowing himself to do what he wants to do; be there for someone he loves. There is no use in shying away from the word, particularly in his own thoughts. He has felt the falsehood of caring and feeling and knows love to be the truth of it.

... he loves Merlin. There. He has whispered the words in the crevices of his own mind. Given himself the spark he needs to fan the flame of his heartfelt affections. He hopes. But then .. should he hope for that? If Merlin can never return those affections, should they be allowed to grow? He whines and sighs beneath his breath, casting another glance beyond the screen to ensure that Hunith is sleeping still. He shall not allow his own melancholia to effect those he cares for. They are as content as they can be without his own problems heaped upon them.

"N-no .. p-lease .." The words are wrenched from Merlin in a breathy cry and Arthur is sat bolt upright before he is even aware of his own movement. His hands shoot out to reach toward his side and he must fight through a blinding wave of panic when he doesn't feel Merlin beside him. Memory is slow in coming, and it is only once he remembers that he had moved away of his own volition, that he is able to make himself move. "A-Arthur .. will come .. for me. He will, Boggs .." Each word, each -syllable- is a knife cleaving through the chambers of his heart. It wrenches and rips through the fibers until he is reduced to a mound of self hatred. He failed Merlin. He allowed his best friend to become .. this. Somehow, some way, he had failed to realize what was happening to the vibrant young man and this damaged shell is his doing.

"God." He swears on an exhale, vaults across the floor space separating them and scoops Merlin up, into his arms. Lays the younger man's side across his lap as he looks down into his distressed, sleeping features. He whimpers and trembles, so damn useless in the face of his friend's pain because he just doesn't know what he needs. How do you repair a broken vessel when you cannot even see the cracks in it? When there are no obvious seams to mend!? "I'm here, Merlin. I'm right here." He leans down, screaming internally at himself even as he presses a trembled kiss to the curve of his friend's forehead. "I'm so sorry, Merlin. Should've come sooner. Should've killed that bastard son of hell sooner for you." He's rambling now. Whispering words of vitriol against the sweaty brow of his friend. "I failed you. God, I failed you and you've been nothing but my best friend. My ..." He sucks in a breath to try and ebb the flow of his mouth, and nearly wants to cry when it works. He dams his throat, buries the tip of his nose in Merlin's damp hair and allows a bare few tears to splash down his cheeks and into the silken tresses. Imagines the strands collecting the salt water and adding them to Merlin's own tears.

"... not .. you .. him ..." Merlin's throat clicks, dry and rough from lack of use and Arthur nearly shoves the poor lad right out of his lap in his surprise. Instead, he manages to flail moderately and then go stiff and rigid so as not to hurt him. His hand soothes down, along Merlin's covered side as he allows himself to bask in the open, wide eyes of his friend. 

"I .. I know it is his doing, but it is -my- fault, Merlin." He grunts something that the younger man cannot hear, shifts again to try and pull him all the closer, though he knows it isn't really possible. God, there are so many things he wishes to do! Lean forward and collect each of his breaths into his lungs. Catalog each ebon lash and quirk of his lips. He wishes to breathe life back into him, wet his dry throat that he will never stop speaking. "You changed ... God, you changed so -much- and we all saw it, but we did nothing! Each and every one of us that calls you -friend- .. failed you. I allowed that bastard to put his hand and temper upon you like a brand, and you will live with the evidence of it for the rest of your days." He bows. Draws himself up taut only to lower himself down, over Merlin. Shielding him and yet, seeking benediction as well. Because he loves him. He wishes nothing more than to be worthy of the bravest man he has ever known. 

"A-Arthur .. brave .. kind .. Arthur ..." The words tumble rusted and frayed from the younger man and Arthur wants to weep for him to stop. As much as he has missed this beautiful man's words, his voice and tone, all his stupid bloody nicknames, he cannot handle the thought that Merlin is hurting himself just to be understood. "Boggs .. did this. You .. saved me. I .. I ... -thank you-, Arthur. You are always .. there .. for me ..." The words are tapering off. Now sluggish and quivered as his throat clicks and ticks again. The ex-Prince hesitates for a moment before he begins to let Merlin go. Only to feel him begin to shake apart in his arms. "NO!" He cries out, the word echoing around their little piece of house. Arthur's arms tighten reflexively, pulling the younger man all the closer to his chest so he knows he will not let him go.

"It's okay. I've got you, Merlin. I've got you. I promise .. I'm never letting go again, okay? I .. I will -always- be here for you." He is damning himself with these words. Allowing insights he has not yet had the chance to examine, to be known. But what else can he do!? Abandon his friend to deal with all of this on his own!? No. Just .. no. He has been a prat, a dollophead, an asshat and an asshole. He has been arrogant, vain, stuck up ... but even he has never been such a bastard that he would turn his back like that. He would commit himself to the fires of hell before becoming such a creature.

"Thank .. you .. my Prince." The word Prince echoes and shudders, but it means more to Arthur than he could -ever- say. He has not been a Prince for months now, but he is not all that surprised to find that Merlin still thinks of him as such. Puts him upon that most honored pedestal, because he -knows- that Merlin thinks him worthy of that title. That is far higher praise than almost any other he could receive. In fact, he can think of but one thing higher and greater than that compliment; if Merlin thought him worthy of his love. 

"I am not a Prince any longer, Merlin. I am not sure I ever will be." He can feel his lips quirking, his mouth curling at the edges into a happy little smile. "I am happy to simply be Arthur, citizen of Ealdor. Friend of Merlin and Hunith." His grin grows exponentially when Merlin huffs a wheezing laugh and reaches up. His long, pale neck extends, allowing his forehead to butt against Arthur's cheek ever so gently and it feels like a brand upon the older man's skin. One he never wishes to be rid of.

"No." Merlin chuffs the word. Turns his head until his nose rests against the swift beat of Arthur's pounding heart. "SON of Hunith." He corrects sternly and Arthur knows better than to argue. Not because he -knows- that Merlin would be stubborn on this point .. but because his friend is right. He is Hunith's son in so many regards and he is perfectly fine with this.

"Yes, I suppose you're right." He turns his head, lowers it until his lips brush the shell of Merlin's ear. He can faintly hear the uptick in his heart, the increase in his breath, but he's too preoccupied with his next words. "Are you alright with that? Sharing your Mother with me?" Because if it makes Merlin uncomfortable .. if he told him that Hunith is -his- Mother, Arthur would step back. He would make himself nothing more than a guest, or a ghost, haunting the periphery of their home until such a time as Merlin wishes him to leave. Despite having just pledged his very existence to Merlin, he has his doubts. One day, Merlin will not need him, will not want him. Someone capable of loving the magnificent, brave young man the way he deserves will arrive and sweep Merlin away from him. And he will not lie and say that he is okay with that. He will merely .. accept it. As he has forced himself to accept every inevitable change in his life thus far. 

"Our .. Mum." The words are decisive, brooking no argument, and Arthur can but smile brilliantly at his best friend. He shifts then, turns so that his lips press happily but briefly against Merlin's. A gesture of fond affection but also appreciation, for his acquiescence in this matter. He doesn't freeze or freak out once he realizes what he's done. He feels Merlin stiffen in his arms, feels the faint shaking of his form as he begins to react. He wants to scream and berate himself. Wants to punch his own face in for forcing such an action on an already broken young man, but he can do nothing to take it back. So, he carefully begins to lower Merlin toward the bedroll, intent on letting go so that he can try and sleep longer.

"No ... NO! NONONO!" Merlin immediately begins to hyperventilate, whining and gurgling the word over and over as his fingers claw at Arthur's arms. Trying to force them to remain around him. At first, Arthur takes it the wrong way. Thinks this is the overdue protest to his kiss, but after a moment, he realizes that Merlin is trying to draw him in, not push him away.

"Shh. Shh ... hush, Merlin!" He commands sternly, feeling the younger man go limp in his arms. He is barely able to peek around the screen to see Hunith quaking but still asleep. Slowly, he rolls. Moves onto his back and pulls Merlin into his chest. Feels the hands fisting in the fabric of his sleep shirt as Merlin practically drapes himself across his torso. Trapping him, though he doubts his friend realizes it. "Better?" He murmurs softly, feeling the stiffness slowly leech from the man he clutches. Merlin huffs a breath of affirmation, buries his cheek against Arthur's heart .. and is asleep within a few minutes. It makes the ex-Prince want to laugh, but he fears dislodging the sleeping youth to do so.

".. god, but I love you, my silly friend." He sighs the words softly before allowing himself to sink into sleep as well.

* * *

Days turn into weeks, turn into two more months. The harvest has been brought in, the first chill has creeped into the air, but Merlin has not spoken another word since that one stilted, heartfelt conversation. Though, one thing has most definitely changed. That next night, Arthur entered their sleeping area to find his bedroll had been merged with Merlin's. Every night since that one, they have fallen asleep shoulder to shoulder, only to wake up tangled in one another. They don't talk about it. Or, more accurately, Arthur does not speak at Merlin about it. They allow it to continue, taking what comfort they can from each other's presence. 

Hunith, too, has changed. Her motherly nature has become more overt. She calls him son, kisses his forehead and cheeks and hugs him as if she is afraid to lose him. She teases and picks at him in the same manor she does Merlin, and he honestly cannot remember a time when he has felt more like someone's child than he does with her. As the weather grew colder, she cornered him with a fierce, mother hen look in her eyes. Wisely, he chose to remain very still and give her whatever she wanted. Which turned out to be the need to wrap a newly sewn black neckerchief about his throat, with matching working gloves to keep him warm while helping out the villagers. They were cheap, rough sewn, and the most beautiful thing he has ever been gifted. He often found himself ceasing his work at odd intervals to bury his nose in the neckerchief, or to rub the back of a glove against his cheek, simply to feel close to the one that crafted them for him. 

However, the advance of autumn and winter bring with it his own set of nightmares.

He smiles faintly as he watches Merlin smoothing down their bedding. He carefully peels the neckerchief from his own throat and shoves them over with Merlin's, their clothes becoming a well integrated mess that seems to calm and sooth them both. Once the bedding is situated, Merlin glares demandingly at his friend, and Arthur actually laughs.

"Just for -that- little glare, **Mer** lin, I should make you -ask- for what you want." The words are spoken with obvious jest, but it is still enough to make his poor features go pale and his eyes widen almost painfully. He is leaking fear and worry all over the place, scared that Arthur will eventually lose his patience and do exactly that. "Don't be a clot-pole, Merlin. Of course I'm not going to make you do that." He gives an epic, playfully annoyed eye roll before he stretches out on the bedding. He rolls his head on his neck until he hears the familiar crack. Bends and curves his back and legs until they pop and feels himself going near boneless with relief. Once this nightly ritual is done, he opens his arms automatically and doesn't bother trying to smother the grin that appears when Merlin immediately curls into his arms. He places his cheek against Arthur's heart, drapes himself over the older man and finds instant comfort in this routine position. Arthur runs a hand lightly up and down Merlin's back as they settle.

"Why yes, I -did- use one of your words, because you are -obviously- acting like one." He snickers when Merlin playfully jabs him in the ribs. He struggles to fight down the want to tickle or poke at his friend, feeling himself begin to droop a little as his eyes flutter closed. ".. I hope you talk again soon, Merlin. I .. I miss my mouthy best friend." He whispers the words hoarsely, moments before he falls asleep.

He dreams .. a terrible memory. He is drowning in a single moment that he cannot change, and it's not even -The Moment-. He is not forced to relive the vision of Boggs hurting Merlin, but instead, a moment long before that. The day Merlin drank willingly drank poison. God, Arthur struggled for so long to forget that sight. The way Merlin's face crumpled inwardly. At first, as if he had tasted something sour. But then ... then, it looked as if something had sucked every last breath out of his lungs. God, the way he pinched and pushed at his throat, trying to jump-start his airways. He was cold and hot all at once, sweaty and clammy and Arthur had sat beside his cot and -know- that he was watching the younger man die second by second.

He shudders in his sleep, whimpering as he pushes at some invisible barrier around him. As he sobs Merlin's name and is woken with his breath a challenged gasp from his sweat-slicked lips. He looks around frantically, half expected to be slumped on a stool, still staring down at a dying Merlin. No ... no, he's in Hunith's home. -Their- home. He can hear Merlin groaning and breathing heavily in sleep. He peeks around the screen and can see Hunith curled up on her side, sleeping peacefully beneath her covers. He carefully pulls out from under Merlin and pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. With a wobble, he escapes the house as quickly and quietly as he can.

Once outside, he struggles to draw a clean, clear breath of air into his lungs, but it feels .. wrong. Stale and worn, somehow. Not -new-. He chokes, coughs and splutters, his palm pushing against his lips. He thinks he's trying to hold something in, but he's not sure what that might be. He coughs again, reels his hand back and thrusts his gaze toward the sky. It's an endlessly clear night, not a single cloud in the sky. The chill is cutting him to the bone, seeping so easily through the flimsy surface of his long sleep shirt, but he doesn't care. He could nearly sink to his knees and allow the cold to claim him with the odd mood he is currently suffering.

Instead, he forces one foot in front of the other, cutting a path across the village, toward the outskirts. Silently, arms wrapped tightly around himself, he makes his way toward the woods. He settles on the stump he usually chops wood on, knees drawn close to his chest as he stares up, at the sky. It seems different. He knows, intellectually, that these are the same stars viewed from the castle in Camelot, but they seem strange and new, here. He huffs a breath, watches halfheartedly as it becomes a tumble vapor against his lips. Gaius would be able to tell him the exact process that creates the visibility of breath, and it makes him smile. For half a second. And then he sobs. A gut-punched sound ripped out of him at this late hour, when he has the 'luxury' of missing every thing he has left behind. The Castle .. his people .. his Father .. his friends; Gaius, Gwen, even Morgana when he's feeling this maudlin. 

At some point, his eyes closed and the darkness did not register as it should. Neither did the soft rustle of fabric until he feels the warmth of a threadbare, earthy smelling blanket is draped across his shoulders.

"What troubles you, son?" The warm, genuine concern in Hunith's voice draws forth something raw and brazen in him. He turns before he can question his actions. He pushes his face against her shoulder and her arms are quick to wrap about him. "Oh, my precious boy." She breathes the words against his hair and he is sobbing uncontrollably now. Her hand is a comforting warmth as it rubs tenderly between his shoulder blades. Soothing and anchoring him. "It's alright, dear. We've spoken of this. Let it out." She murmurs soft encouragements and little by little he feels his tears washing him clean. Feels his shoulders relax, his hands unclench. Even his legs slowly unfurl and he feels ... God, he feels like -himself- again.

"T-thank you, Mum." He murmurs the words before his brain can filter them. His cheeks erupt in a blush, and then he nearly falls from the stump when he sees that Hunith is not upset. Shocked, yes, but that look quickly bleeds into one of honor and happiness and Arthur feels something blooming deep inside of him. Her hand raises, cups his cheek as she smiles warmly at him.

"It's alright, Arthur. I look at you as my son, dear. Just as much as Merlin is. I'm honored to be your Mother." She coaxes him into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek, undeterred by the taste of salt there. "Now, why don't you tell me what happened, love?" She makes a bit of a shooing motion and he quickly moves over that she can join him, seated beneath the blanket. She wraps herself around his arm, lays her head on his shoulder and listens with the kind of patience only a parent can.

".. I had a bad dream." He feels like an idiot, reduced to some childish utterance of nightmares, but it's true nonetheless. Besides, he rationalizes with himself, he was never allowed the luxury of confessing bad dreams to his parent, before. She hmms softly, an encouraging sound without voicing anything and he sinks a little closer to her. "I .. some time back .. Merlin did the bravest thing I have ever seen. He .. God, Hunith, he willingly drank poison. I went against my Father and found the cure to save him. I .. I was seeing him do it .. drink it all over again .." She sucks in a surprised breath and Arthur flinches. "I'm sorry, Mum, I shouldn't have told you that." Hindsight is a bitch, but the damage is done and all he can do is hope that she will not freak out too much.

"Arthur .. I am not surprised, in the least, that Merlin did that. Not in the -least-, son. Were you not here when a young man that despises the sword took one up to save this very village at your side?" He cannot stop the grin that unfurls across his visage, because he will always remember that, too. Brave Merlin, sword in hand, willing to lay down his life for no other reason than it was the right thing to do. He shivers.

"He is the bravest person I have ever met. He deserves to be a Knight. Deserves ... he deserves everything." He whispers the traitorous words, having hoped to keep his revelation to himself a little longer than this, but he really should've known better. Even if he knew how to keep such things to himself, Hunith is a Mother. She probably knew the truth longer than he did ..

".. yes, he does, Arthur. But here's the thing you do not seem to grasp, my dear .. so do -you-." She growls those words with maternal sureness against his shoulder and he shivers at the sheer conviction in her voice. Because she believes this with all that she is, and it makes him inclined to believe it to. "... and I've known you were in love with Merlin since you rode into Ealdor, Arthur. No Prince would defy his Father and King to travel to some unknown little village and face down a bastard like Kanen. Not for a servant, probably not even for a friend. But someone he loves?" She smiles, he can feel the ghost of it against his shoulder before he turns to look at her. He is scared. It is written in every line of his countenance, but he does not know how to banish it.

She pulls herself away, reaches up to place her palms against the curves of his cheeks that he will look at her, full in the eye.

"Arthur ... you -are- like a son to me, and as such, I wish to see you happy. I am glad that you love Merlin, my dear. He deserves someone as magnificent, loyal, and kind as you." She leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead. When she pulls back, there is even more warmth to her smile. "Tell him the truth. I .. I cannot say what is in his heart these days, but I know ... he loved you, when you came to Ealdor. He loved you so very much ... I believe he still does, beneath the pain and trauma. You have been there for him so much this past year." She carefully pushes herself to her feet, placing the blanket across him once more. "Do not remain outside too long, son. You might catch cold." He watches her retreating back for a few moments longer before he returns to contemplating the heavens.

* * *

Arthur watches Merlin. It has become a bit of a past time, these days. No matter what either of them are doing, he seems to have an eye on his friend. And now, he has a reason for that attention. Because he loves him. Sure, he has always know he had some strange affection for the younger man. He knew that the moment Merlin walked into Camelot and stood up to him for being a prat. He even knew that he held love in his heart for the boy. But, in the beginning, he thought it an almost sibling-like affection. He assumed that he loved the young man as his dearest friend. Not until recently did he understand the truth; he does not just love him .. he is **-IN-** love with him.

This is a new, terrifying prospect. And yet, it seems like nothing when compared to the fact that he knows Hunith is right. He has to -tell- Merlin. Why does this seem more dangerous than taking on a Griffin or squaring off against Kanen and his thugs?? He shakes his head, clears it with a grunt and a faint growl as he pushes himself away from the table. Merlin glances up from the hunk of bread he has been nibbling at. Arthur swallows heavily and grabs the bread, sliding it back onto the plate it came from before he settles his hand on the younger man's thin shoulder.

"It's okay, Merlin. You don't have to. But, uhm .. would ... would you take a walk with me?" He bites at his bottom lip, fighting against a sense of self-consciousness he's never felt before. If the moment passes for a few more seconds, he knows that he'll begin to shift from foot to foot and he will probably die of embarrassment if that happens.

Merlin seems to hesitate for a moment, before he nods and stands. Arthur bites a little harder on his lip before he reaches out to clasp Merlin's arm and lead him out of the house. They walk along the outskirts of town, Arthur lost vaguely in his thoughts, though he doesn't let go of his friend. The silence stretches on for what feels like hours, but once he manages to come back to himself, a quick glance shows that they've probably only been walking for about twenty-five minutes or so.

They are just far enough that the village is no longer visible, and Arthur hopes that it is far enough away. Because if Merlin rejects him, he doesn't want anyone to see his heart break, but he hopes it is close enough that his friend can make it back to the village on his own. His stomach is churning, twisting into proverbial knots as he tries to swallow down his anxiety and man up. He has lead Knights into battle, faced down hostile dignitaries, and followed a magical ball of light to find a cure for his best friend. He can do this. He can lay himself bare and hope for the best.

"Merlin. There ... there's something I need to tell you." He has stopped walking. An abrupt standstill that causes Merlin to jerk in response as he forces himself to still, too. He turns to face Arthur and the ex-Prince's words trigger an instant reaction in the younger man. His eyes go wide, his limbs flail, and he begins to quake all over. Because he has inferred something that simply isn't true. Merlin assumes that Arthur is leaving. That he has finally gotten tired of 'babysitting' his ex-Manservant and has decided that he misses the good life of the future King of Camelot, and Merlin honestly wouldn't blame him for feeling that way. He knows that Arthur deserves so much more than a traumatized friend to look after. But he's terrified of losing him. Scared out of his mind that Arthur will abandon him, and he would deserve it. He's a broken vessel that can no longer hold hope, love, or happiness. Some days, he thinks he can. Some days, he wakes up in Arthur's arms and knows that his friend loves him as all best friends do. He almost thinks they can be brothers given Hunith's acceptance of him. It's not what he wants, not by half, but he can -live- with that. What he -isn't- sure he can live with, is the prospect of Arthur leaving him behind. He knows that he can never go back to Camelot .. not while that bastard Uther is on the throne. 

Arthur's eyes widen in turn and he reaches out. Wraps his arms tightly around him and yanks him close in his embrace.

"Shh .. Merlin, please, breathe for me. Breathe! I'm not leaving. I don't know why you'd think that .. god, I could -never- leave you, Merlin. Not -ever-." He murmurs the words into the curve of his neck. Tattoos them across his flesh with each whispered breath. He needs him to believe ... needs him to -know- that he means it with all that he is. He pulls back enough to look into eyes bluer than his own, sucks in a surprised gasp at the overwhelming amount of confusion and emotion there. "M-Merlin .." He whimpers his friend's name, and before he can make himself stop and think, he acts.

His mouth closes tenderly over Merlin's, the kiss sweet and almost chaste as he struggles to let his love for the younger man shine through in the action. It takes nearly half a minute of shock before Merlin is melting into the kiss. Hands clasp tightly at his elbows. Long, slender fingers twine heavily in the material of his shirt, trying to drag him closer. No sooner does he begin to budge, however, than he is almost violently being shoved away. He stumbles back a few steps, mouth falling open as the feeling of rejection curls deeply in his gut. Licks like flames at every bone in his body. Lodges itself in his heart, his throat. Tears are already forming at the corners of his eyes and he isn't sure of he wants to -scream- or -sob-. Maybe an emotional combination of them both.

Merlin's hands have lifted, palms pressed so tightly against his eyes that his skin is a paper pale white around his knuckles. God, Arthur almost expects to see blood oozing from around his hands, from his ears, from -somewhere-! He practically lunges forward, hands pawing at his wrists.

"Merlin, please! You're going to hurt yourself. Please, stop!" He's begging. An action he almost never allows himself to resort to, but he will happily beg if it means Merlin will stop hurting himself. The hands slide away, and Arthur draws in a ragged, shocked breath. Merlin's beautiful blues are now the color of gold. Bright yellow amber that glows despite the brightness of the day. He jerks his hands away from his wrists, suddenly so unsure how he should react. He has seen that color before ... magic. It is the color of pure, unadulterated -magic-. Every thing he was raised to despise and hate by his Father. But in the very next breath, he also knows that this is -Merlin-, and magic would never change that.

However, before he can reach back out for him, the warlock has turned and begun to run. So fast, so desperate, trying his damnedest to put as much distance between the two of them as he can. And why not? After what Boggs, a Knight that was supposed to protect every single citizen of Camelot had done, he must question what the Prince raised to punish magic will do. Arthur cannot blame him for that reaction. Hell, he can't even blame him for not -telling- him that he has magic in the first place. Once they became friends, or as much of friends as a Prince and Servant could be, he had need to guard such a secret. It hurts. Burns like live fire through his guts, but he understands.

"Merlin!" He screams the name, urgency and fear spurring him on as he takes off after his best friend. "Merlin please, wait! I'm not mad!" Though the way in which he nearly snarls the words probably undermines that truth deeply. He reaches up and smacks himself in the forehead for allowing his nature to become some brusque when he is trying to calm his friend down. He stumbles over a rock, grunting as he hits his knees and skids across the ground a little. He lifts his face in just enough time to see that Merlin has stopped in the middle of a clearing. He is on his knees, arms wrapped around himself in an almost punishing self-hug that wrenches at Arthur's heart. Why can that not be -his- arms cradling his friend so desperately!? 

"M-Merlin .. p-pl-ease.." He whispers the words hoarsely even as he feels the hairs at the nape of his neck beginning to stand on end. The air ... god, the air feels as if it's been brought to life. As if it's breathing, electrified and -aware- and it takes only a moment for him to realize that it is literally crackling with energy. Magic. It's originating from the man he loves and Arthur hasn't the first clue what he should do. It feels as if it takes an eternity to lift himself up, off the ground. He tastes the coppery tang of blood on the tip of his tongue and realizes that he has bitten something in his mouth. Tongue. Cheek. Doesn't matter. He doesn't feel pain, only urgency. He rushes forward on unsteady legs, tipping over himself before throwing himself to the ground behind his friend.

"I'm sorry. So sorry. Forgive me. Arthur. Forgive me, please. Deserved what he did ... nothing but a nasty -thing-. Made of magic. Not worth it. Not worthy of you. Albion needs you. I can't .. can't ..." His his throat is raw and probably bloody from the sudden overuse after no use at all. He hacks and coughs, spits something onto the ground even as Arthur wraps his arms around him from behind. Pulls Merlin's back against his chest until he feels as if they could merge into one. Still wouldn't be close enough as far as the ex-Prince is concerned. No, he wants to pull Merlin into himself where he can protect him for the rest of their lives.

"Merlin. No. Please. You -can't- say things like that. You're not a thing, not nasty. You're beautiful and smart. You're brave and loyal and the best person I have ever known. It doesn't matter that you have magic. God, if -one- person could be good and still have magic, it's -you-." He is whimpering and whining the words against the nape of his friend's neck. His arms tighten when he feels the build up of magic beginning to reach out to him. Preparing to ... explode, maybe? "I .. I -love- you, Merlin, you stupid prat!" He nearly sobs the word love out hysterically, and the crackle of magic suddenly ceases. That scares him far more than the tingling build of it had. Because he may not know -much- about magic, but he knows that that heavy of a concentration has to go -somewhere-. And the only thing he can imagine, is that Merlin has now turned it inward.

"NO!" He throws his head back, howls that single word to the skies. No, Merlin can't do this. He can't. Because he loves him, damn it, and love is supposed to make -every thing- better. He doesn't care if that sounds sappy and girly. He wants it ... -NEEDS- it to be true. For the first time in his life, he needs love to be real and to mean something. "Don't leave me, Merlin. Please, you just can't. I love you ... don't you dare make me say goodbye to you. Stay. For me." Merlin's entire body is shaking apart in his arms. Unraveling as the energy builds more and more, taking him over. 

The loud, hiccuping sound of sobs fills the clearing, and it takes but an instant for Arthur to realize that he's openly weeping. He's sobbing his heart out to the heavens and they seem to have turned a deaf ear to his pleading. He tilts his head down, presses his tear soaked lips to Merlin's ear and breathes out so softly against it.

"Please stay with me, my love." The body held so close to his jerks a single time before Merlin throws his head back, the nape of his neck laying unsteadily on Arthur's shoulder as he screams at the top of his lungs. Dizziness and confusion descend on the ex-Prince, who has just enough time to blink before the world around him grows dark and he is sinking into it, unable to breathe.

* * *

"... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't be dead. I love you so much, Arthur. This is all my fault. You can't die on me. You can't." Merlin's rambling. That is the first thing that penetrates the dense fog of Arthur's befuddled mind. Merlin, mute Merlin, is rambling like he used to. His second thought ... the outburst of magic killed him and he is in heaven. Because Merlin is talking again. Third thing, that should've been the first; MERLIN LOVES HIM. That, more than anything, causes him to take in a large gulp of breath. He jerks awake, sits upright on the next inhale and his head begins to swim. Several blinks later, and he realizes that he is looking .. at a field of devastation. The grass is tumbled, pulled up by the roots in some places. When he glances down, he sees that he is covered in dirt and grass, stained green and brown, with small patches of soot.

"Merlin! A-are you .. okay?" He chokes on his words, coughing and grunting as he struggles to clear his windpipe. 

".. what? After .. after all of .. that .. you're worried ... about me!?" He huffs and puffs his words, hands reaching up to twist in his feathery bangs. Arthur reaches up on instinct, bats Merlin's hands away so that he can card his fingers through them instead.

"Yes, Merlin, after all of that, I am worried about you, you moron." He grouses softly, his eyes slipping closed as he tries to combat the dizziness. "You turned your magic inwardly. For all I knew, you were dead. I can't ... I cannot survive you -dying-, Merlin. I .." He sucks in a deep breath, puts on his 'do not mess with me' face, and stares directly into his love's eyes. "I would have been soon to join you." He points that out softly, almost too low to be heard, but by the sharp intake of breath, Merlin had. 

"Arthur ..." Merlin whimpers his name and the next thing Arthur knows, the warlock is in his lap. Clinging tightly to him. He slides his arms around him, cradles him against his chest as he blinks back tears.

"If you ever scare me like that again, I will wait until you'r healed .. and then kick your ass from one side of Ealdor to the other." This draws a forced, half hysterical laugh from Merlin before he buries his face against Arthur's shoulder. "I'm not mad that you're a sorcerer, either, Merlin. I understand why you hid it from me." Merlin trembles momentarily, before pulling back enough that he can look into his best friend's eyes.

"I-I'm not, Arthur. I'm not a Sorcerer." He stumbles across the words, cheeks bathed in crimson as he blushes. He doesn't mean to be argumentative, but he -needs- Arthur to understand. "A Sorcerer or a Sorceress, they seek out magic. They force nature to give it to them." He sucks in a breath, drops his gaze because he's afraid what he will see in his Prince's eyes when he speaks. "I was -born- with Magic, Arthur. I -am- magic. Since I was a baby, I have been able to use it. I never sought it out, Arthur, I promise. It has a way of finding me, but .. I did not summon or ask for it. I am a Warlock, not a Sorcerer. Warlocks and Witches are born with the gift." He knows that he's rambling, but he can't help it. He still needs understanding. Before he can say anything else, Arthur's lips are on his and he is melting into the kiss again.

When they pull apart, Arthur's tongue skates across his swollen bottom lip and he knows that he probably looks a little disheveled.

".. I do not think I will ever get used to that." He confesses with a blush and an awkward chuckle, before he pulls Merlin close again. "I understand, love. And honestly ... everything makes so much more sense now. You've saved my life, countless times." He brushes a kiss across both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, across each of his brows. He could do this all day, every day, and it occurs to him, when he sees the blissed out look on his warlock's face, that he can. He can have this, every day of their lives together. "I love you, Merlin." He murmurs the words shyly, and laughs when Merlin launches at him and does the same. Presses kisses to every inch of his face as he whispers.

"Love you so much ... my beautiful Prince .. perfect ... all mine .... forever ....." His voice is growing raw and uneven, but he can't stop whispering all these sweet little things and Arthur can feel himself blushing so deeply he wants to curl up and away from him. But he can't let him go.

"Merlin ... MERLIN! I get the point, love." He chuckles warmly, places one last kiss on Merlin's lips, before he reluctantly pushes him from his lap. He stands, pulls warlock to his feet, and gently takes his hand. "I'm guessing this will be of little surprise to Mum. Come on. Let's go home." Merlin beams at the use of Mum, curling himself against Merlin's side as they head back to Ealdor.

Nothing has fully been settled. They both know this. There is still the matter of Arthur being the heir to Camelot. Of Uther's behavior toward those with magic, and the trauma of what Merlin has been through. But that's okay. Because they have each other, and they will find a way.

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who followed this. 
> 
> I know it took a while to finish, but I'm so happy it came out the way I wanted it to. Hope everyone enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are appreciated, as long as they are constructive and not rude for the sake of being rude! Hope every one enjoys the story!


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